


Vader's Diary - Remastered Edition

by Slireon



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars: Rebels, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: All work and no play makes Vader a dull boy, But I DID write this version published right here, Canon Compliant, Classic Fic Remastered, Comedy, Crack and Angst, Gen, Human Disaster Anakin Skywalker, I didn't write the original fic, Light Angst, POV Darth Vader, Parody, Which is published in FanFiction, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:47:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24583294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slireon/pseuds/Slireon
Summary: Being a Sith Lord is no easy task.Fortunately, Darth Vader has a top secret diary at his disposal to keep his thoughts straight and focused on the task at hand.> ENTRY 48:I wonder, if you had a lightsaber big enough, would you be able to deflect the Death Star’s beam? No need to answer, just food for thought.Or something like that.
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano, Anakin Skywalker & Luke Skywalker, Darth Sidious & Darth Vader, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 18
Kudos: 68





	Vader's Diary - Remastered Edition

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Vader's Diary](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/629956) by Shadoo Shay, published in FanFiction.net by raveen92. 



> Ever since I watched S7 of TCW, I've been having this itch to write something Star Wars related, but I haven't felt all that confident about actually doing it.  
> Then I stumbled across an old classic, Vader's Diary. However, the original fanfic is about fourteen years old by now, and there are so many things of the newer canon that I missed, that I decided to put on my goggles and start welding the old fic with the newer canon.
> 
> Therefore, Vader's Diary - Remastered Edition was born, with brand new entries, new and old characters, new events, and an overarching character arc for our favourite Sith Lord as he slowly grows disillusioned with the Dark Side and his Master, hinted through the small details in the choice of words he uses across his entries.
> 
> I claim NO OWNERSHIP WHATSOEVER over the original fic, to which I have provided you the link so you can compare both versions, just like Halo's "switch to original graphics" option. I intend no plagiarism, but rather, I just wanted to type down something to ease myself into Star Wars fanfiction, and I thought doing a [George Lucas Altered Version](https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/GeorgeLucasAlteredVersion) on an old classic was a good place to start.
> 
> [Reuploaded because I messed up with the publication date and I have no idea how to fix it]

**> ENTRY I:**

So today I was shown this new ‘Death Star’ thingy the Emperor’s been contracting so many workers for. It’s meh, I guess. You know, you’d think that with all the credits he’s pumped into it, he could do something more useful, like, maybe concentrate his efforts into abolishing the slave market so prominent in some of the Outer Rim territories. I mean, come on, this Empire’s supposed to work for the ordinary folk.

**> ENTRY II:**

You know, while it’s no moon, I’m seriously impressed by the size of this thing. It took us ten minutes to get from the transport shuttle to the bridge, and that doesn’t include the time it took to wait for the turbolift. I mean, my god, can someone explain to me why is there only _one_ turbolift in the whole damn station? Who was the idiot who designed this?

**> ENTRY II:**

Writing is so damn annoying with these gloves. Good thing I have a speech-to-text droid to take care of it for me.

I’m not too big on this suit, either. It’s just so tacky, all black and dull. Wasn’t there another colour? A little brown over here, a little red over there? Maybe some bling?

At least my voice sounds really cool, though. Really makes up for the endless pain and agony this suit is deliberately designed to cause me.

**> ENTRY III:**

… I know he's supposed to be teaching me about the endless mysteries of the Dark Side, but I’m starting to dislike being around my Master. He smells like old people and medical droids. And he’s always so bossy too! Lord Vader, bring me my blanket! Lord Vader, do my groceries! Lord Vader, wash my toes! If the power of the Dark Side is _sooooo_ unlimited, why can’t he do it himself, dammit?!

**> ENTRY IV:**

Something really embarrassing happened to me today. One of the junior officers asked about the colour scheme for the recreational hall this morning, and though I felt tempted to strangle him for not taking up this matter with Development (we have protocols for a reason!), I indulged him. He showed me two different schematics. 

Unfortunately, everything I see is in varying shades of red and black, so I honestly had no clue which one looked better or if there was any difference at all. 

I took a shot at it, and said the green one looked neat. He gave me a strange look, and said there was no green one.

After an awkward silence, I crushed his throat and stuffed his body into a ventilation shaft. True, I could just as easily have reported his untimely demise, but I don’t want my troops to think I’d kill them as soon as look at them. That would affect morale far more than the act of just doing it.

**> ENTRY V:**

We tracked down one of the Jedi today! Can’t say I remember her name, but from what I’ve read in the logs, she was supposed to have been executed, but apparently the clone commander was so high on caf that he only heard ‘ _Execute order six-’_ , and they and every clone in the battalion destroyed their comms, instead of killing the Jedi. Apparently, after they found out what had happened, she and her still loyal clones went AWOL and on kickass adventures throughout the galaxy. 

Didn’t help her much in the end, because I finished her and her crew off. She was a great fighter, though. She tried spinning, which, while admittedly a good trick, in the end did nothing to save her from my blade. Besides, she called me the "Emperor's Dog", which was a pretty rude thing to say.

**> ENTRY VI:**

And because life wasn’t bad enough, now I have to carry out interviews to decide on Appo’s successor as the 501st’s CO after that blasted Jedi killed him.

Oh, Rex, wherever did you go? This whole thing would be so much easier if you were here.

You also owe me fifteen credits.

Don’t think I have forgotten about that.

**> ENTRY VII:**

The construction crew found something really weird in one of the garbage disposal rooms today. It appears to be a dianoga. Considering this battle station has been construction in the middle of space, I have no clue how it got there unless someone smuggled it in. Which brings me to the real question: _why would you do that?_

I asked around, but no one’s claiming responsibility. When I brought it up in conversation with my Master, he simply said “Good, Good. Everything is going according to plan,” around a mouthful of fries while he watched really old holofilms. 

I think he’s losing it.

**> ENTRY VIII:**

At the conference dinner earlier, Admiral Ozzel got up to leave.

However, he had tucked the tablecloth into his belt rather than his napkin, and made an absolute mess everywhere the instant he moved away from the table. He absolutely ruined my cape. I don’t know why the Emperor keeps him around, he’s as clumsy as he is… wait, someone’s paging me. Gotta go.

**> ENTRY VIII.2:**

stupid.

Sorry, I just couldn’t leave the thought hanging.

**> ENTRY IX:**

Just realised I wrote ‘Entry II’ twice. So I’ll just pretend that didn’t happen. There’s been entirely too much on my mind lately. I haven’t been sleeping well, this damn respiratory system keeps me up at night. I wonder if requesting to clone me a set of new lungs would be too much to ask - I mean, even Grievous had lungs, screwed up as they were. We’ll see. My birthday’s coming up soon, I’ll subtly hint at it in conversation.

**> ENTRY X:**

No new lungs for me. Something about Kamino preparing an insurrection against the Empire with their latest batch of clones, so now _I_ have to go and kill them for a while until they change their mind.

Happy birthday to me, I guess.

**> ENTRY XI:**

I didn’t mention how I got my new lightsaber, did I? It’s not much of a tale, really. My Master gave it to me soon after I was… reconstructed. It was in a dusty old box. I had the feeling he had been keeping it for me for some time, perhaps years. Which is really thoughtful of him, but makes me wonder if he’d known all along that I wouldn’t use my old one anymore. I asked, and he mumbled something about artificial crystals and the Sith, but he didn’t mention what colour it was. When I asked him, he just rolled his eyes and called me an idiot. Well, _excuse me_ for having a mask which makes everything look red and black!

I hope it’s blue, like my old one. After all, I wouldn’t even _need_ a new one on the first place if Obi-Wan hadn’t stolen mine like a common thief. It beggars belief. He spends years being a terrible master, fakes his death and lies to me for shits and giggles, votes Ahsoka out of the Order, turns my wife against me, cuts off my legs and arm, and then, _of all things_ , takes my lightsaber?

What the hell was up with that, anyway? Jackass.

**> ENTRY XII:**

The Emperor invited some of his advisors over for a chat today, and I had to stifle a laugh. They wear these really stupid-looking hats that remind me of the Neimodians, or Duros, or whatever the blazes they’re calling themselves these days. I escorted them back to their ship, and kept quietly force-shoving their hats off along the way. The looks on their faces were priceless. 

It’s the little things like that that keep me going… that, and fixing things.

**> ENTRY XIII:**

It was Empire day today. We wanted to throw a surprise bash for the Emperor, but he’s off dismantling the Senate or something. Sometimes, I don’t think he cares.

**> ENTRY XIV:**

One of the clone troopers keeled over and died today in the middle of a training drill. Then another, and another, and another. 

I know being part of the 501st isn’t for the faint of heart, but this is getting ridiculous.

**> ENTRY XV:**

And it happened again. More clones suddenly dropped dead. Now I’m worried. Is this just a 501st thing, or is it widespread amongst the clones all across the galaxy? Does it have anything to do with the chips Fives told us about?

Rex can’t die; he still owes me those fifteen credits, dammit.

In any case, we need to start thinking of replacements. We cannot afford having our garrisons depleted because a whole bunch of clones decided to just die. I’m torn between getting a new seeder for our clones, or to start conscription.

...

Oh, right, I destroyed the cloning facilities last year.

Conscription it is.

**> ENTRY XVI:**

The Emperor arrived to oversee the continued construction of the Death Star, and we threw him that surprise party. I kind of ruined it, though. When he opened the door, I’m pretty sure he heard me breathing before he turned the lights on. I feel like such a tool.

**> ENTRY XVII:**

This suit is just bizarre at times. I started fiddling with one of the knobs on the chest panel today, and picked up the Max Rebo Band on my audio receptors. I think the station was Jazzwailing FM 3. While that kicks all kinds of ass, now I’m starting to interfere with scanning equipment whenever I walk past it. 

Should I get it fixed? That would be the most logical course of action, but on the other hand, I can listen to badass music while I cut down my enemies.

What to do, what to do…

**> ENTRY XVIII:**

Got something really wizard today. It’s called an hyperbaric chamber. While I’m not too clear on the specifics, it will enable me to rest, eat, breathe and sleep without the use of my suit. Good thing too, because A) my helmet grill is developing a nasty food crumb and dried liquid buildup, B) I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in over a year, and C) this whole thing needs to be washed something fierce.

I should probably read the manual… Once I find it underneath all of this packing foam.

**> ENTRY XIX: **

We’ve started conscripting, and I took a look at some of the troops during combat simulations. Half of them can’t hit the broadside of a moisture farm, and one of them smacked his head getting to the flight sim. If this is the best the new Empire can offer, then perhaps we were better off as the Republic.

I miss Rex. And Fives. And Echo. And Jesse. And Kix. And Hardcase. And Tup. And-

**> ENTRY XX:**

Dum dum dum dum dee-dum dum dee-dum… dum dumm dumm dum-dee-dumm dum dee-dum…

I swear, I’d love to meet the composer who wrote our anthem. Genius, absolute wizardry at its best.

**> ENTRY XXI:**

I tossed a garbage bag down one of the interior thermal exhaust ports today, and seconds later, the whole station nearly shook itself apart. In all honesty, I’m not very impressed by this technological terror that’s being constructed. Still, I’m not going to clean up their mistakes. I’ll let them figure out the problem themselves.

**> ENTRY XXII:**

After years without news, a probe droid found the remains of a crashed Republic Cruiser.

I always wondered what had happened to them. They were supposed to be on their way back to Coruscant, yet never arrived.

I never knew what happened to them. I always thought that they were still alive: Ahsoka was no longer part of the Jedi Order; she shouldn’t have been targeted by Order 66. But _where_ could they be, then?

I thought they had finally eloped together, but even then, it just didn’t make any sense that they had left without a word.

That a whole cruiser would just... disappear from one moment to the next. That _they_ would just disappear.

Rex was a consummate professional. He would never go AWOL.

And Ahsoka… she said she’d come back. She promised.

...

Oh, look at yourself. 

Who are you trying to deceive? Of course they would lie and turn their backs against you, just like everyone else.

...

It doesn’t matter now.

They’re dead.

Their helmets were buried in the snow.

Along with her lightsaber.

Ahsoka. Rex. Jesse. Vaughn. Every single one of them.

Perhaps it’s better this way.

**> ENTRY XXIII:**

I wish I could pen down something cheerful, but I’ve just received word that several of the new stormtroopers were actually rebel sympathisers out to acquire various datum on the workings of the Imperial training programs (joke’s on them, thing barely works at all). They got what they wanted, and have since stolen a lambda-class shuttle and escaped, apparently making off with several decicredits worth of valuables as loot. I was quite upset, and have informed Personnel of it. There had better not be anything of great importance missing, or there will be hell to pay.

**> ENTRY XXIV:**

Meeting with Prince Xizor today. I sense an unusual amount of hostility from him, seemingly of a personal nature. It’s so depressingly typical. Count Dooku escapes, it’s my fault. The Republic falls, it’s my fault. My wife dies, and it’s… okay, bad example.

But honestly now, I wonder what Xizor’s problem is. Despite his pathetic attempts at civility, it was easy to read that he’d love to rip out my innards. By the Force, who defecated in his cereal bowl and blasted his hometown into oblivion from orbit? Because it wasn’t me.

**> ENTRY XXV:**

Those rebel infiltrators stole the ice cream maker from the cafeteria.

In addition to making a mockery of the Imperial Personnel dept., petty theft, and the lives of the twenty or so men I jettisoned through the airlock as punishment, now they have to answer for the loss of my favourite late-night snack.

I’m sorry, but now it’s personal.

**> ENTRY XXVI:**

I have sent a bounty hunter after the rebels who stole my ice-cream maker. His name is Boba Fett, and he is reputedly the best. I remember his father from Geonosis; he was a good fighter, but I’ve never understood why either he or his son are such a big deal. It’s got to be the armour. I’ll admit, it looks so wizard, especially the helmet.

I wish I had one like it.

I’ll bet he never has to wonder what colour something is.

**> ENTRY XXVII:**

That was fast. Boba Fett came back. He tracked down the rebel infiltrators, but most of them had split up. What irritated me was that he disintegrated those he found after questioning (Turns out that group is heading for Bespin). And not only that, he disintegrated their spoils, he disintegrated their hideout, he even disintegrated the fragments of the bodies that he disintegrated. Think I’ll have to warn him about that next time, boy’s got some rage issues.

**> ENTRY XXVIII:**

I’ve never liked Inquisitors. It’s almost like they try too hard. And they keep either failing me or trying to take my place. Sigh. Another day in the office.

At least I’m getting Mustafar all for myself. Was getting tired of the Death Star, anyway. Every corridor looks the same. And I always got stuck with Yularen waiting for the _single_ _turbolift in the whole damn Death Star._

Talk about awkward.

**> ENTRY XXIX:**

The rebels are starting to become a real headache. I _just_ got to my new awesome castle on Mustafar, then I have to go with Tarkin to Lothal because my Master wants me to end the rebellion.

And what about what _I_ want, huh?

A ‘thank you, Lord Vader’ from time to time would be nice...

**> ENTRY XXX: **(heh)

I think Grand Moff Tarkin has warts. Ew.

**> ENTRY XXXI:**

She lives. 

Ahsoka Tano.

Anakin Skywalker’s former padawan.

 _My_ former padawan.

 _Snips_.

I…

I honestly don’t know how to feel about this. She is affiliated with those Rebels. I might have to fight her. And I… I don’t want to.

I’ve already lost her once. I don’t want to lose her again. 

But perhaps… Perhaps I won’t _need_ to fight her. She was betrayed by the Jedi, just as I was. I could make her see things my way. 

After all, if Dooku groomed his own apprentices despite the Rule of Two, why shouldn’t I?

**> ENTRY 32:**

Ahsoka Tano is dead. The Rebels escaped.

End of the entry.

**> ENTRY 33:** (I was starting to get tired of the other numerals, anyway)

It’s been about a month since Malachor. I don't want to talk about it, so let's just say that I felt out of it for a while, but I’m slowly getting my groove back.

Met the famed Admiral Thrawn today. We discussed combat stratagem over lunch, and played chess. He beat me in three turns. Damn, he’s good.

**> ENTRY 34:**

Paperwork today. It’s a royal pain in the rectum, and I despise it. You try typing in these ridiculously cumbersome gloves through mechanical hands and forearms and tell me how it feels. And the only thing I can do to make it easier is use only my index fingers! Are you kidding me? We don’t have larger keyboards?! I swear, the only reason I keep this diary going is because I’ve ran out of things to fix.

…

Wait…

Yes, that’s it.

**> ENTRY 35:**

… Poodoo poodoo poodoo poodoo poodoo poodoo poodoo stupid poodoo poodoo poodoo poodoo stupid stupid excuse for a Sith Lord poodoo poodoo poodoo poodoo poodoo poodoo poodoo can’t do anything right you stupid fu-

**> ENTRY 36:**

Ehem.

Allow me to explain yesterday’s entry, and what precisely occurred to merit my self-recriminations. In my attempt to perform a favour for my Master, I… shall we say, ‘adjusted’, the gears on his throne in order to make it creak slightly. Not much, just enough to cause him irritation. I had meant to repair it for him before his eyes, just to make him appreciate my being around, but… Oh, I wince as a write this… I tightened the gears too tightly, and, well…

He sat down, leaned back and the seat broke right off, his momentum sending him careening down the stairs.

He’ll be alright, he just needs a day or two in the infirmary to recuperate. And it’s all my fault. Oh, I feel so helpless.

**> ENTRY 37:**

… In an attempt to occupy my mind from the disaster, I have taken to supervising the removal and retrofitting of new thrust engines on our new TIE fighters. It seems that several of them are producing ugly square blue blocks of energy around them. Bizarre.

**> ENTRY 38:**

‘Be careful not to choke on your aspirations, Director’.

Heh, still got it.

**> ENTRY 39:**

I knew I’d made the right choice about not fixing my radio issues with my suit the moment I curb-stomped those rebels down a hallway with this really badass song blasting in my audio receptors. This is totally worth some light interference in our equipment, and you absolutely cannot change my mind.

Unfortunately, the Rebels still managed to escape from Scarif. Doesn’t matter. We’re hot on their tails. It’s only a matter of time until we get them.

**> ENTRY 40:**

As we pursued the rebel ship, I was looking out the viewscreen and I could have sworn I saw… get this… giant yellow text… just floating through space.

Apparently no one else noticed it. I even checked the scopes, and there was nothing there.

I’m worried that I’m starting to see things. Maybe the chamber’s affecting me. Still, I’m pretty sure I saw what I saw. I couldn’t make most of it out, as it was too far off, but I distinctly read ‘A New Hope’.

A new hope? What the hell? Did something happen to the old hope? What was wrong with it? Is hope new and improved? If I ever had an excuse to start staring vacantly out of windows, this is it.

**> ENTRY 41:**

You ever have one of those days? You know, the ones that you just know as soon as you wake up that they’re going to suck? I’m having one now. 

First, the Rebellion had the gall to attack Scarif and manage to steal the schematics of the Death Star.

Then, we have the yellow text in the middle of space.

Then the rebel ship that escaped from Scarif (which, did I mention is carrying the COMPLETE SCHEMATICS OF THE DEATH FREAKING STAR) did so on course towards… Can you guess it?

TATOOINE.

TAT-FUCKING-OOINE.

Sigh.

And because _that_ wasn’t enough, when we intercepted the Tantive IV, we found none other than Princess Leia Organa of Alderaan herself. That isn’t weird in and of itself, because _of course_ the Organas were rebel sympathisers, but thing is…

She looks like Padmé.

Not identically, of course. But the eyes, the mouth, her expressions… She even had a variation on that funky bun hairdo she used to love so much. I think that’s what really brought it out.

Anyway, as you can imagine, all this got me quite upset (not to mention her stubborn insistence on being on a diplomatic mission. Like, Princess, I saw this VERY ship escape from Scarif and it was chock-full of rebel soldiers who opened fire on us as soon as we came knocking, come on!), so we left none alive. Why the pods weren’t blasted instantly, I’ll never know - but on the upside, neither will the commanding officer in charge.

Anyways, I’ve sent several battalions down to search the landing sites and near villages. I hope I’ve placed competent officials in charge (though I wouldn’t hold my breath…), because I’m not going down there. Too much sand. I hate it. It just gets everywhere.

Not to mention what it would do to my suit.

Okay, long day, sleepy now, night night.

**> ENTRY 42:**

You know what really irritates me? The size of Motti’s Adam’s apple. It’s like this giant egg got stuck in his throat and he never bothered to try to hack it up. I hope he gives me an excuse to try to remove it.

**> ENTRY 43:**

I informed my Master of the matter of the yellow text this morning, and he gave me a look that suggested I was something he scraped off of his shoe. I’m not crazy, I know what I saw. Still, this, I fear, has left me in poor standing with his excellency. 

Indeed, he put me _under_ Tarkin’s command. I chafe at this slight, but I know that once I perform a service for him (like, say, find the location of the Rebel base), I will redeem myself in his eyes.

**> ENTRY 44:**

We escorted Leia Organa to her cell yesterday, shortly after which we deigned to discuss the location of the Rebel base. The Stormtroopers outside her cell must have been disturbed by all the screaming. I would have avoided it if I could, but we tried everything - truth serum, sleep deprivation, scraping our fingernails across glass, randomly jumping into her cell and saying "boo", shaking our fist at her, saying "why we oughtta", hideous torture that will scar her emotionally for life, yada yada yada.

Finally I had no choice but to seal her eyelids open and force her to watch a tape of that irritating children’s show. You know, the one with the purple krayt dragon?

I’m ashamed of myself, but it’s very important we get results.

**> ENTRY 45:**

Something’s wrong with my vocabulator. I’m not sounding as low-pitched and threatening as I usually do. I sound kind of, force forbid, _whiny_.

**> ENTRY 46:**

Welp, we blew up Alderaan today. And the tremor in the Force was so nasty that I honestly almost chucked in my helmet.

Some might inquire as to how people like Tarkin and I can sleep with a clear conscience after murdering billions in one fell swoop. The answer is simple; of course we can. They started it.

**> ENTRY 47:**

I think my elbows need tuning up. I was speaking to Tarkin, and my arm just started gesturing for no specific reason after I was done speaking. I looked like a complete tool.

Anyhoo, no rebels on Dantooine, she lied to us, Tarkin whined about it, yada yada yada.

**> ENTRY 48:**

I wonder, if you had a lightsaber big enough, would you be able to deflect the Death Star’s beam? No need to answer, just food for thought.

**> ENTRY 49:**

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times; that’s what I could say after this afternoon’s events. On the one hand, some Rebel punk kid, accompanied by a former trooper named Solo, as well as a large angry walking carpet infiltrated the battlestation, freed the princess, and escaped with her. Which, real bad vibes for sure, but at least we slipped a tracer onto their piece-of-junk ship before they took off.

Buuuuuut on the other hand, they were with my old master, and I TOTALLY CUT HIS LYING MANIPULATIVE ASS IN HALF! HA! HOW DO YOU LIKE THAT, BITCH?! SERVES YOU RIGHT FOR CUTTING OFF 3/4 OF MY LIMBS AND STEALING MY LIGHTSABER!

…

Ehem. As I was saying.

It was weird though, because he didn’t actually get cut. He just sort of vanished into thin air. It really freaked me out, and I had to poke his robe (which is all that was left, apart from his saber - which will make a fine addition to my collection, alongside Tano’s) with my foot a bit to make sure he was really dead.

He also mumbled something about being more powerful than I could imagine if I killed him. I don’t know what he was talking about - he seemed to be pretty darn weak - kind of shuffling around more than actually fighting. He really didn’t age well. There was something wrong with his saber, too. Kept flashing on and off like a faulty light bulb.

More powerful, indeed!

Maybe he turned into a giant lightsaber. That would be cool.

… On second thought, then he could deflect the Death Star’s beam right back to us, and that’s not good.

**> ENTRY 50:**

It’s a very good thing that I stored this diary on my personal Interceptor. It will give me ruminative focus as I make my way to the nearest planet with an Imperial presence (wish this thing’s hyperdrive was working properly). I need to refuel, repair, and most importantly, sleep for a week or so. It’s been a hell of a day, folks.

Hell of a day.

Started out innocently enough. Infiltrators, princess, owning my master - I’ve mentioned these already. Since then, a bit’s happened.

I’d like to say ‘I told you so’ to the contracted construction crew of the Death Star. And I will, once I get back to civilisation, and track them all down.

Every last one of them.

Slowly.

I’d also like to say that to Tarkin, and Motti, and Yularen, and all the rest - not in a hostile manner, mind you. Just extremely smug and condescending.

Except I can’t, because their atoms are now floating freely about the space surrounding Yavin 4 (the rebels’ hidden base, as it turns out - they’re holed up in ancient Sith temples, how’s that for irony?)

I’d also like to meet that pilot who actually fired the shot heard (and felt) ‘round the star - not to strangle them good and dead, no, not at all (that’s a first) - but because I’m curious. The Force was especially strong with this one, which is rare in and of itself because the Inquisitors actually did their freaking job most of the time, but because (s)he’s an extremely good pilot, whoever (s)he is. The Empire needs more of those, not like that stupid wingman who bashed into me and sent me sailing out into space.

Although he _did_ inadvertently save my life. I suppose I should be thanking him for that. Maybe I’ll erect a memorial, and then kick it over. I dunno. Perhaps I’ll

**> ENTRY 51:**

That’ll teach me to not put on the autopilot while I’m writing. That could have gotten me killed. Maybe I’ve been wrong about those programs all these years.

Anyway, I’m lucky I survived this crash. My Interceptor’s going to need some work. My mapper’s still working, though - I’m on a forest moon orbiting the gas giant of Endor. Don’t think it’s inhabited, but I know for sure there are Imperial reconnaissance troops here, somewhere. 

Atmosphere’s breathable. I think I’ll scout around and see what’s out there. Hello, big green world, here I come…

**> ENTRY 52:**

No sign of any Imperial settlements yet, and it’s been six days. I’ve been surviving off of various roots and berries, as well as a parakeet that I managed to capture three days ago. If only my lightsaber actually gave off heat so I could cook…

Miss my speech-to-text ghostwriting droid. I had forgotten just how cumbersome these gloves are for writing.

**> ENTRY 53:**

I encountered a native today. I demanded that he tell me all he knew about the area, but I got nowhere. It reminds me of that time I ‘interviewed’ that Sullustan rebel spy. Despite learning nothing - mainly in part due to the fact I couldn’t understand a single word he was saying - it was still an entertaining exercise. I’m taking its remains with me, to ward off other possibly hostile natives.

Also, just in case I get hungry again.

**> ENTRY 54:**

I’m traveling at night now. A close call with a hungry beast has made me realise that however well my black armour camouflages me against the night, against audio-sensitive predators I’m a sitting womp rat.

Why me?

**> Entry 55: **(I’m getting tired of capitalising these)

Hmmm. Tastes like Bantha.

**> Entry 56:**

Something is wrong. The homing beacon I left aboard my Interceptor has ceased transmitting. I’m returning at once to investigate. I have a bad feeling about this.

**> Entry 57:**

I’m grateful that I decided to keep the native’s garments at hand - they’re proving to be quite useful as a sack for his (dwindling) remains. I was getting sick of dragging him, anyway.

**> Entry 58:**

… And there they were. Crawling all over my Interceptor, ripping its innards out, poking and prodding and tossing and turning (and some of them even spinning) with all of its sensitive equipment.

I was not pleased, and told them so. I’m pretty sure the tossing the head of their kin at their feet got the message across, but I felt a bit of personal discipline was in order. I’ve since decided to remain here and activate a high-frequency homing beacon, as I repair the ship. My men will come to me, which is as it should be, and I will have something to occupy my time. 

They better had not taken away the hydrospanner…

**> Entry 59:**

I have successfully made contact with a Moff currently supervising the fitting of an Imperial installment, one Jerjerrod. He promises that scout troops will arrive within a week to transport me back to the base. He also advises that the local race,called Ewoks, are harmless, easily frightened, yet curious creatures, as I am already aware. A shame, I was looking forward to further confrontation. Oh well, at least I won’t go hungry.

**> Entry 60:**

It was just before dawn when they attacked. They came out of nowhere. I am fortunate for two things: one, that I am a light sleeper, and two, that the one who threw the first spear at me was a lousy marksman. At least thirty of them, coming at me with spears and bolas and rocks. While I was caught off guard at feast, it was quite the laughable attempt. Hopefully, this new slaughter will be enough to dissuade them from further attack.

**> Entry 61:**

I can’t sleep anymore. I awoke in searing pain to find a large boulder had smashed through the hatch, nearly crushing my left shoulder. I can still move my arm, though it hurts tremendously to do so. These Ewoks are masters of camouflage and stealth. I never even sense them approaching. I must remain awake, lest they cause further damage to my ship, or worse, to me.

**> Entry 62:**

Three days without sleep. I am beginning to feel groggy, and the Ewok meat is beginning to go rancid. I feel quite ill. I shall endeavour to heat a piece of scrap metal using my saber, and cook upon that. Hope that works.

**> Entry 63:**

A week now… Yes, it’s been a week. They’ll be here soon. They haven’t forgotten me. That’s right. They’ll be here soon. Only a matter of time.

**> Entry 64:**

I thought I saw Obi-Wan. Effects from sleep deprivation. There’s no such thing as ghosts. No such thing as ghosts. I’ll just keep telling myself that. Keep telling myself that.

**> Entry 65:**

it was because i ate an arm, wasnt it? all the time i sat there and cooked it and devoured it they were watching OH YES THEY WERE WATCHING I KNOW I JUST KNOW THEY WERE THE TREES HAVE EARS AND EYES thats why they stormed the ship and they attacked me with blades and hacked into my shoulder and i couldnt get them off im so tired and they TOOK MY BLASTER ARM OFF ill kill them ill kill them all ill slaughter every last one of them and feast with the emperor on their BONES AS THEIR OFFSPRING WATCHES ME DEVOUR THEIR PARENTS IN FRONT OF THEM BEFORE ITS THEIR TURN

**> Entry 66:**

ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES VADER A DULL BOY ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES VADER A DULL BOY ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES VADER A DULL BOY ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES VADER A DULL BOY ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES VADER A DULL BOY ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES VADER A DULL BOY ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES VADER A DULL BOY ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES VADER A DULL BOY ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES VADER A DULL BOY ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES VADER A DULL BOY ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES VADER A DULL BOY ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES VADER A DULL BOY ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES VADER A DULL BOY ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES VADER A DULL BOY ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES VADER A DULL BOY ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES VADER A DULL BOY ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES VADER A DULL BOY ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES VADER A DULL BOY ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES VADER A DULL BOY ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES VADER A DULL BOY ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES VADER A DULL BOY ALLWORKDANDNOPLAYMAKESVADERADULLBOYALLWORKDANDNOPLAYMAKESVADERADULLBOYALLWORKDANDNOPLAYMAKESVADERADULLBOYALLWORKDANDNOPLAYMAKESVADERADULLBOYALLWORKDANDNOPLAYMAKESVADERADULLBOYALLWORKDANDNOPLAYMAKESVAD

**> The following is one excerpt from audio recording 3896-B, recorded by squadron 58, under the command of Moff Jerjerrod, stationed at time on the fourth moon of Endor.**

“How much farther is it?”

“Just down this valley and…” silence. “Oh my…”

Footsteps shuffle.

“That’s disgusting.”

Retching.

“Eugh. Someone get him a towel.” A pause. “I’ve never seen that much blood in one place…”

“Look sir! Ewok heads!”

“In a pile? What was Lord Va-”

What appears to be the sound of a lightsaber igniting.

“An admirable ploy. I commend you for your efforts, although they will prove futile.”

“Lord Vader! What happened to your arm?”

“Do you truly believe dressing in the skins of my soldiers will fool me? Your distractions grow tiresome!”

Uncertainty. 

“Sir…?”

A lunge, sounds of a lightsaber slashing through plastoid, skin and bone. A piercing yell of agony.

“Sir, please! We need to get you to a bacta ta-AURGH!”

A body falls to the ground.

“Sir, please, we… herk… bleurgh…”

“He’s gone berserk!”

What appears to be a tree falling. Panicked blaster fire.

“Set to STUN! To STUURGH!”

More blaster fire, as the lightsaber swishes and slashes through.

“‘Yub yub’ this, commander!”

“EURGH!”

Stun blasts.

A beat of silence.

“Mommy…?” Vader’s booming voice asks pitifully. “Where’s my podracer…?”

Loud crash.

Silence. The sizzle of scorched surfaces.

“We…” a gulp. “We’ve got him. Inform Moff Jerjerrod. Tell him to send a pickup unit.”

**> Entry 67:**

Okay. I’m feeling better now.

Honestly.

In hindsight, I’m a bit surprised that I lost control of myself as easily as I did. I thought I had a grip on myself by now, but perhaps I still have much to learn. 

Then again, _you_ try lying awake for days on end, listening for twigs cracking, hearing calls of ‘yub yub’ from the blackness…

But I’ve gotten better.

If only the nightmares would stop…

At any rate, I’ve got back my ghostwriter droid and the new arm is healing quite nicely. Purrs like a nexu, no grinding, and the joints are self-lubricating - good thing too, as those oil baths were rather unpleasant. I’ll get more replacement parts when I have the time.

**> Entry 68:**

If for some reason we ever create another Death Star, I know exactly where I’ll suggest it be built and tested on.

**> Entry 69:** (LOL!)

I had assumed that with my convalescence here aboard the Executor’s medical bay, I would see an end to the hallucinations and visions that were so prominent during my… unpleasant stay on that forest moon.

It would appear I was mistaken.

I’m seeing Obi-Wan’s phantom now. He won’t appear to anyone else, just me. I even tried to inform one of the med-droids that there was a man standing at the foot of my bed, and it gave me a sedative.

Between the massacre, the yellow text, and now this, it will be a wonder if the entire Empire doesn’t consider me a lunatic before the end of the year.

**> Entry 70: **

He’s absolutely everywhere now. Floating outside the bridge’s window in deep space, inside my hyperbaric chamber, at the ship’s market going for seven wupiwupi a pound… No matter where I go, he’s just standing there, watching me. Disapproving.

He’s even taking peeks at my diary, and he seemed positively unamused about the “(LOL!)” in entry 69 (heheh).

And now he’s doing it again.

Well, I’m sorry, Kenobi, but it _is_ funny!

...

Go away.

I know you can hear me, you old fart. You’re frowning now.

Seriously, get out.

...

Hey, jackass, why did you steal my lightsaber from me while I was on fire?

Yeah, _now_ you leave.

**> Entry 71:**

It would appear I’ve missed a bit of action while I was away. The rebels have been chased off of Yavin 4, and are fleeing through the galaxy. But they must undoubtedly have a secondary base. We’ll find it. and when we do, we’ll strike back at them so hard…

And also, I am growing increasingly intrigued by the young pilot who destroyed the Death Star. I have received visions of him, in dreams… I should not care, and yet, the Force is very strong in him.

There’s something about this boy…

...

I can see you on the corner, Kenobi. Got anything to say, huh?

No? Just another frown of disapproval?

I hate you so much.

**> Entry 72:**

I haven’t picked this thing up in quite some time. There’s just been so much to do. Report to my Master (Who’s really spending way too much time isolated in his palace on Corusca- sorry, _Imperial Center_ now, on what has officially been renamed Palpatine’s Square - over inflated ego, anyone?), hunt down rebels like the scum they are, stangle the odd commander, infest healthy planets with vegetation-killing seeds, public speeches… You know, everyday stuff. So it came as no surprise that I’d eventually lose track of this diary. Found it today underneath a stack of ‘Bothan Boobies’ which I confiscated from Ozzel last week. I haven’t dared look at them, knowing how my Master gets with non-humans and all that. Imagine if he read my thoughts? Now that would be embarrassing.

Anyways, I’m gonna start updating now that things have settled down. Heck, even Obi-Wan isn’t appearing to me anymore.

...

Oh, yeah, there’s another Death Star in construction around Endor. Sometimes, it’s great to be alive.

**> Entry 73:**

… I’m starting to miss him.

I wonder if Obi-Wan stopped appearing because he’s… found someone else?

NO, no, nonononono, it’s not like that. Wow, sorry, that just came out wrong. It’s just.. Maybe he found something better to do? Like, maybe he’s all buddy-buddy with ghost Ahsoka on Force-Heaven or something. Going for ghost drinks… Having all of their ghost limbs… Going on most excellent ghost adventures without me...

I’m not jealous. 

You’re jealous!

...

Oh, what the heck is going on with me. I killed them both! Why do I care what they’re doing in their afterlives?

**> Entry 74:**

Speaking of which, I wonder sometimes just whatever happened to Threepio. I hope he’s okay. Is he being powered-up? Is he getting enough shut-down time? Is he getting oil-baths when he needs them? I really hope he wasn’t sold for scrap, or anything. I can’t help but worry.

Maybe I’m getting soft with old age.

Or maybe… maybe I have possession issues? I’m going to go talk to the ship’s psycho-analysis droid about this.

**> Entry 75:**

The scouts have absolutely no clue how the analysis droid wound up half-crushed, floating outside the airlock, and why all the datum it had on the psychological state of the crew was wiped out.

And that’s how it will stay.

Can’t have anyone running about knowing all of my filthy little secrets, can we? ;)

**> Entry 76:**

If I see one more rolled-up issue of ‘Bothan Boobies’ sticking out of Ozzel’s belt buckle, I swear to the Force I’ll kill him. If not, I’ll find another excuse.

At least have some class and buy ‘Twi’lek Titties’, like any self-respecting guy would! Uncultured swine.

**> Entry 77:**

Xizor was in my Master’s audience chamber today, in person, as I made my report. That alone is enough to seriously enrage me (Who are YOU to speak to MY Master ALONE?!), but something happened which made me feel a lot better. I’m not all that sure, as the holocam angle was terrible, but you see, my Master was having his toenails cut (something he should _really_ do more often) as we all spoke, and I think Xizor took one to the eye. I had to bit my tongue to keep from laughing. That’ll teach him to grovel.

**> Entry 78:**

How come the unlimited power of the Dark Side can prevent death but cannot prevent your toenails from growing? Food for thought.

**> Entry 79:**

That text again.

That FORCE-CURSED YELLOW TEXT.

I made out something about ‘Episode V’. V? What does that stand for? Violet? Vendetta? Vroom-Vroom? I’m so confused. I don’t care if he thinks I’m insane (feeling’s increasingly mutual), I’m reporting this next time I’m back home.

**> Entry 80:**

If these rebels think they can just walk in and completely subvert the Empire’s strangleho- I mean, firm grip, for the sake of security and order, of course - on the galaxy, they’re going to be on the receiving end of a rather nasty spanking. Followed by hideous torture, of course. It’s the only way we learn and grow.

**> Entry 81:**

So we’ve just set course for the Hoth system.

You know, I’ve always wondered who named that. I mean, what does ‘Hoth’ make you think of? Some guy with a lisp saying ‘hot’. And it’s not. It’s really not.

I wonder about planet names sometimes. I don't know where the name Coruscant came from, but it's infinitely better than Imperial Centre. And whoever named Tatooine ‘Tatooine’, anyhow? Why is it so similar to Dantooine? Makes me think of some spacer with body art. They should have called it something else. Something like… Sandymus Prime, or whatever.

Hey, I never said that naming things was my forte. Come to think of it, I wonder what I would have named my son if I hadn’t killed Padmé like an absolute jerk. Something classy. Like… Lando. I’ve always liked that name. 

Lando Skywalker. Smooth. Rolls right off the tongue.

Ah, I’m rambling again, point is, we’re on our way there. Ozzel’s leading the fleet, and he’d better not screw up. I’m in a forcey-chokey kind of mood right now.

Wait, if that’s the case, shouldn’t I prefer that he _does_ screw up, so I get an excuse to strangle him?

Oh, I’m in quite the pickle now…

**> Entry 82:**

Oh, I choked him alright. I choked him GOOD.

Just wanted to say that, I’m feeling a lot better now. It’s amazing what miracles just a little murder can do to your mood.

I’m going to go down and supervise the occupation myself, as it should be. After I flush these magazines out the airlock. I would have given them back if he’d done well here. That’ll teach me to be generous. 

Next Admiral that screws up gets his oxygen taken away, no excuses.

Where is Yularen when you need him?

Oh, right, atoms floating in space.

**> Entry 83:**

What a waste of a trip. I get out of my chamber, dust my cape off, shine up my helmet, take the turbolift down, get into the shuttle, head down to the planet, JUST in time to see the Millennium Falcon leaving.

This idiotic pilot INSISTED on double-checking the thrusters before we took off. "Oh, better safe than sorry, Lord Vader". Jackass.

Despite the fact he’s only got one arm now, he’s piloting back surprisingly quickly. Think I’ll recommend him for a promotion.

Oh, wait, no. Keeling over, hitting the floor. Guess I’m driving us back.

I swear, if it wasn’t for me, this Empire would crumble within a day.

**> Entry 84:**

First Ozzel comes out of hyperspace right next to the damned planet, setting them all alert to us, THEN they manage to slip transports past us, we almost CRASH to fnarling STAR DESTROYERS (Honestly, are there any GOOD pilots left in the galaxy that _aren’t_ rebels?!), and now we send a squadron of TIE fighters after them, and they lose them in an asteroid field.

I’m getting really sick of all these stupid people. Even Solo. He should have just gone to hyperdrive if he’d had any sense. Doesn’t he know what the odds of navigating an asteroid field are? Idiot. Next time I see him, I’ll torture him. Just for being stupid. I’m not even going to ask him any questions.

**> Entry 85:**

Pop.

Pop.

Pop.

Oh, there goes another one.

Pop.

It’s a tradition for starfighter pilots to paint emblems on their hulls representing the amount of kills they acquire in battle. I believe I shall go down to the airlock, head out into the storm, and paint a couple dozen TIEs on that big asteroid shaped like a shoe - it’s really cleaning up. If only we could hire it into the Imperial Navy, we’d end the Rebellion in an instant.

Pop.

**> Entry 86:**

Ok. Boots. Chest armour, knobs and buttons all shined up? Check… And then some (I truly do appear to be shinier today than usual. Most impressive).

Helmet on straight? Check.

Cape brushed off? Check.

Fleet moving away from asteroid field? Check.

Tension-relieving, personal-assistant-strangling exercise complete? Check.

Disposal of the body? Check.

Okay. Time for a meeting with my Master.

**> Entry 87:**

Three things:

Firstly, for some reason I think that conversation could have gone much better. But for what it’s worth, I think I held my mental shields nicely. Obi-Wan would be proud.

Secondly:

Wow.

Through my time in this galaxy, I have seen a great many things. I have partaken in wars too terrible to recount, and witnessed miracles that most sentients would not believe possible. I have experienced to most unique and unexplainable mysteries of the Force. I have spoken with wise men and utter fools. I have seen unique and plain forms of life, sentient and dumb. I have seen the rise and fall of civilisations. There is very little these days that surprises me.

But nothing could prepare me for what my Master told me today.

That punk kid who infiltrated the Death Star and rescued Princess Organa? Who destroyed the Death Star? Who was strong in the Force? Whose act became legend to the Rebel Alliance, encouraged all kinds of Imperial defections, caused the populace to doubt in the strength of the Empire? Who I nearly killed?

My son.

Oh, yeah.

Not kidding.

Yeah.

I gotta sit down, I’m pacing a hole in the floor here.

Just… Wow. If I had a death-stick… But I don’t, and that’s silly. My lungs are burnt enough as is. Besides, what kind of example would I be setting to my oh my god it’s already happening.

Okay, so I fed my Master a line about having to destroy him if he didn’t join us. I know that won’t even be necessary. If he won’t listen to me, then I’ll give him a bloody good thrashing. Or… ground him. I don’t know, this isn’t the kind of things I’m good at. I fly ships. And fix things. And strangle people. And sometimes, I fix things by strangling people while I’m flying a ship. But a parent? A… father?

Me?

I’m going to do the only sane thing possible upon finding out a thing like this: get some sleep. I can’t think right now. I need to adjust. Good night.

Oh, and thirdly… Just how in the hell did it take us this long to get the kid’s name?! We’re the Empire, for the Force’s sake! We know these things! We’re watching you! The skies have ears! The shadows have eyes! Makes no sense, I tell you.

**> Entry 88:**

Which brings to mind the question… How exactly am I going to tell the kid? I’m not good at these face-to-grotesque-breathmask things…

Wait, I know. I’ll put out the word I want to contact the rebels. To give them a message.

“Rebels, a part of Lord Vader is with you.”

No. That sounds dumb.

I’ve got it. “Vader has a message for the Rebels.”

That’s all that needs to be said.

I’ll have it broadcast over the holonet. I’ll talk to a representative personally. And when they get word I want to contact the pilot who destroyed the Death Star, they will offer him up to me out of fear. This is perfect.

Yes.

There is no possible way that this can go wrong.

I am so amazing, sometimes.

**> Entry 89:**

Not only was she the most beautiful woman who ever lived, not only was she a kind and understanding, eternally giving soul, not only was she a superb Queen and diplomat, not only could she wield a mean blaster, not only was she a goddess in the bed… but she could give birth to a baby while dead.

That’s just incredible. That’s just how amazing she was.

…

Wait.

That makes no sense.

And she was like, six months into it before I… well, did that bad thing.

That makes no sense either.

Am I missing something here?

**> Entry 90:**

Seeing as how an asteroid field is laying waste to three quarters of my Executor’s TIE squadron, I’ve done the reasonable thing and brought in the only folks who can go in and get the dirty work done.

No, I’m not talking about the Latrine Space Duck or any household cleaning mascot. I’m talking about Bounty Hunters.

I had Boba Fett in (who I warned about the disintegrating), of course, and to make it look like anyone else could actually get the job done, a few others as well. There was a lizard that walked like a man (and wore clothes too small for him), a guy with his head wrapped in toilet paper, a robot man-fly, a flasher, and a living combination lamp post-don’t walk sign. I swear there’s something wrong with everyone in the trade. What happened to the classics, like blue space cowboy or bald angry chick?

Well, if they can’t get the job done, no one can, because quite frankly I’ll be upset enough to choke everyone in the galaxy.

**> Entry 91:**

A matter has come to my attention which I believe is cause for great concern. It could very well mean the end of the Empire, if it turns out to be true.

I was re-examining holocam recordings taken from one of the Death Star’s myriad black boxes - examining my son’s flight techniques. He’s rather impressive, I’ll give him that (I remember when I destroyed my very first spherical satellite. There was nothing those pesky droids could do against the power of spinning), but I have noticed he just may have had an unfair advantage. And advantage I once had.

An advantage that represents a great peril to the order of the galaxy.

He may have R2-D2 with him.

More to come on further examination.

**> Entry 92:**

My fears have come true. That is the droid, there is no question about it.

We’re fucked.

Now, you may believe that I am grossly overreacting over such an insignificant thing as a droid. I cannot blame you for this, but you would be wrong, for you have not experienced any amount of time with this particular droid by your side.

Let me tell you a few things about him.

That droid understands humans. Knows the way they think. It can form plans. It can improvise. It can repair hyperdrive engines faster than you can blink. Not just those - find any problem on any ship, and it can fix it. It can weld, it can fuse, it can separate. It can reprogram your ship’s OS to fly right into the nearest star, if you let it.

It can fly.

It can electrocute. It can spit out oil, set people on fire, and douse the flames if it feels like it. And it can slice.

Oh, can it ever slice.

It can get into your onboard operating system and make it dance. It can slice past any code, any firewall, any protective measures you can think to put up against it. It can steal any bit of data it feels like. It can shut down battle station defenses. It can serve a mean flapjack.

It shouldn’t even be able to do half of these things, but it does.

I’m fairly certain that it could control this Super Star Destroyer if one were to give it half the chance.

I know what that droid can do. And trust me, it isn’t something you want working against you.

My course is clear. I must turn my son to the Dark Side… And reprogram that droid, so that it can make it that much easier for us to rule the galaxy as father and son.

**> Entry 93:**

You know, it’s funny how different each and every larynx feels through the Force, and how, when you crush them just so, they can make all sorts of interesting sounds. Needa’s sounded like a drowning Noghri, which was amusing, so I have decided to accept his apology.

**> Entry 94:**

I have reported the matter of the yellow text to my Master, and he cut off the transmission in mid-broadcast. What a dick.

**> Entry 95:**

Fett tells me Solo hid on the side of this very ship to make his escape, and they’re headed for Bespin.

Perhaps I’ve underestimated him. I’ll invite him to dinner by way of apology.

**> Entry 96:**

I neglected to mention. His name is Luke.

‘Luke’?

I distinctly remember telling her I hated that name. But then, she hated all my choices, too. She was overly critical, and never listened when I told her I wanted a name that sounded badass.

‘Luke’? What kind of pansy name is that?

Good thing we Sith have that renaming thing going on. In his case, it won’t be just a rechristening, it’ll be a favour.

Which begs the question, what will it be? Something flashy.

Well, I _did_ want to name him Lando, so Darth Lando?

Hey, that sounds pretty neat, actually.

I’ll keep it.

**> Entry 97:**

Speak of the devil. Cloud City, the prime Tibanna gas mine on Bespin, is run by one Baron Administrator Lando Calrissian. The good ones are always taken.

Interesting. It seems that according to our records, this gas mining operation of his doesn’t fall within our jurisdiction, and isn’t subject to taxation, despite the fact that it’s in a registered sector. How… Unusual.

Well, good to know we have blackmail… Or rather, _bargaining material_.

Yes, my path is clear now. Surely, Luke will be able to sense the peril of his allies. I will use this Calrissian to lure him into a trap by endangering his friends. When all is complete, I will have taken the life from Solo, the droid from my son, my son from his own delusions, and the first name from Calrissian.

And all will be well.

**> Entry 98:**

The transmission of today's Imperial Center Holonet broadcast just came through. The gist of it is this:

"Vader: I Have A Message For The Rebels"

"This cryptic yet reassuring phrase was received by Holonet Communications early this morning. Unfortunately, the details of this warning or announcement are still unknown. Due to signal interference caused by an asteroid field in the area, the transmission was cut off shortly after it began. Sources say that the Imperial fleet is under no imminent danger, and should return to Imperial Center shortly, upon which time we may look forward to hearing the remainder of Vader's message to the Rebel insurrectionists who threaten our galaxy's peace. Judging by the one sentence that came through, and knowing Lord Vader's reputation for confidence and certainty in dealing with such threats, it would be no large assumption to assume that he has the Rebel threat well in hand, and feels the need to reassure the public by notifying these terrorists that their days are numbered."

I have today learned a valuable lesson. When you own the media, when every single broadcast is pre-arranged to sway events in the favor of both you and your fledgling government, when you spread propaganda and misinformation about the opposition as a matter of course...even your own intentions can become misread.

So, to sum;

Stupid asteroid field, stupid me for not verifying the message had gone through, stupid idea, stupid media, stupid rebels, stupid everything, stupid stupid.

**> Entry 99:**

I have to overthrow my Master.

Really, there’s no other choice.

And as a matter of fact, I can’t see any reason NOT to.

First off, it’s a Sith thing. In between bloody murder and bloody murder, I’ve been researching our history for a while, and I notice that, if the tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise is anything to go by, the overthrowing and succession of the Master by the Apprentice is not only common, but apparently encouraged trend. High amongst our values is the ambition for power, and the will to achieve that power.

It’s time for a new Master and Apprentice. I have a candidate.

I’m the number two man in the galaxy. I have a shot at being number one. I told Padmé as much, once.

What kind of Sith would I be if I didn’t take it?

Secondly, my mastery of the Dark Side is nowhere near as complete as my Master’s. This is both a good and a bad thing - I cannot hope to ever be his equal, considering my limitations. His mastery of it has also given him extended life - but at a cost. Despite how much longer he may live, he is withered and decayed, foul and physically weak and complacent being, hidden away in the bowels of his egopolis.

Were I to strike quickly, he would not stand a chance at stopping me.

Thirdly, I’m not too hyped about how easily he swallowed my line about converting Luke. Call me paranoid, but perhaps he wishes for an apprentice who isn’t limited by a life-support system (and isn’t crazy enough, in his opinion, to see bright yellow text where there is none - I know what I saw, but I digress). And given that long-life thing he’s got going, he just might have enough time to train someone new. Time I might not have.

So, the time, as it were, is ripe.

In a way it wasn’t when Tano reappeared.

Yes. I shall rule the galaxy with my son at my side.

Unless my Master has some secret caché of clones of himself stashed in the Unknown Regions. 

In that case we’re all fucked.

**> Entry 100 (Yay!)**

On Bespin now. There is a certain degree of anticipation that comes with situations such as this, and I confess to enjoying it. So much of my life has now become routine that I welcome little plays at intrigue.

We have Calrissian in talks at the moment, and are persuading him to see our point of view. My brief exchange of words with him went a good way into helping that along - I’m fairly certain he soiled his cape.

Soo, very soon, all that I desire shall come to pass. My son shall be at my side, and the galaxy ours alone to rule.

Furthermore, this is the last known location of the Rebel infiltrator who stole my ice-cream maker, and should he still be here, I’ll be damned if he’s getting away again. True, I could simply order another - and I have - but it was a very well put-together little ice-cream maker. I want my Rocky Rancor Road.

Oh, yeah, #100. Happy anniversary, Vader’s Diary!

**> Entry 101:**

The problem with bringing a battalion of Stormtroopers with you is where to hide them when you’re trapping someone. We’ve currently got them stashed in locked rooms throughout the city, but we’ve got about five or so left over, and the Falcon is due to arrive within the hour. I thought about just strangling them to liberate some tension, but I don’t think I have enough time, so we’ll just stick them in an engine room and hope for the best.

**> Entry 102:**

He is in pieces now, next to me in this temporary personal quarters. In a pathetic state. His parts are showing.

The Stormtroopers in the engine room reported a droid stumbling upon them. They blew him apart, and requested further instruction. I investigated, and nothing could prepare me for what I found.

C-3PO. One of my oldest creations. One of my oldest friends.

I sat there, holding his head, for a full hours, just remembering.

My childhood. Tatooine. Mom. Kitster. Watto. Podracing. That jerk Sebulba. Sand.

Fond memories. Bittersweet. Tinged both with happiness and pain.

It makes me wonder if I’m truly cut out to be a Sith sometimes.

I haven’t felt like this in a very, very long time. 

Since Malachor, as a matter of fact.

I cannot afford sentimentality. It’s interfering with my thoughts and could compromise my better judgement. We’ll take them in tomorrow.

Looking over at his remains now, it is a difficult decision to make, but I suppose I should have him destroyed. There’s no telling how much he could reveal if he were to make the connection between me and the man I once was, if he still remembers me.

Goodbye, Threepio.

**> Entry 103:**

Han Solo is the worst dinner guest of all time.

Honestly.

Repeated instances in which he has made my forces look incompetent, assisting in destroying the Death Star, and being stupid enough to actually fly into an asteroid field aside, I’ve got no personal grudge against the guy. I actually admire him for his tenacity.

(It seems he was a Navy cadet for a brief period of time but washed out. A shame. I’m certain he would have become one of our few competent Admirals. His loss.)

He has a surprising amount of courage for a mere smuggler, and a death mark isn’t an easy thing to live with - I know, having handed out a few dozen of those myself. He is a remarkable pilot, and under different circumstances I would love to test my own abilities against his.

But none of that can excuse bad table manners.

I consider myself a fairly generous person. A good amount of people have betrayed or hurt me in my lifetime, and I’ve been good enough to let the past be the past. True, most of those individuals are now dead directly due to my actions, but that’s neither here nor there.

But I was willing to let everything Solo had done slide, and have a friendly chat with him over some supper.

But oh, no. He wouldn’t have anything of it. First he pulls a blaster on me and shoots - understandable, given the surprise situation, but still rude. I relieved him of it, and politely asked him and his party to join us for dinner.

At which time he proceeded to lay out the insults. Starting with Calrissian. Then Calrissian attendant. Then Cloud City’s security staff. The the Stormtroopers present. Then Fett. Fett’s ship. Me. My mask (this, I recall, is when I began to become upset. I work hard at keeping this thing shiny). The Emperor. Then the Imperial flag, the Imperial anthem (again, a no-no. You don’t mess with that anthem), and every Grand Moff from here to Imperial Center and back.

And then he insulted my mother.

Oh, goodness heavens gracious me.

**No.**

The next thing I remember was that I was breathing louder than usual, and making Solo turn all sorts of funny colours from across the room. But a bargain is a bargain, and table manners are table manners, so for decency’s sake, and Fett’s, I allowed him to live. For the time being.

That did not, however, meant I had to put up with his insolence, so I knocked him unconscious and had him escorted out.

And of course, the walking carpet got all riled up after that, and Fett had to put him down with a stun blast. I remember the little green troll once telling me how ferocious they are about life debts (and Solo’s record mentions him deserting the Mimban campaign with a Wookie POW he had freed). If only they were as ferocious about washing.

Fett didn’t say much throughout the whole ordeal, moving only now and then to sip from his drink with a straw underneath that helmet of his. He’s always quiet, and I think that’s why I like him. He’s got some serious bottled rage issues inside he needs to work out, but I like him nevertheless. Knows his place. Reminds me of Rex, if only because he’s also a clone.

Calrissian was very pleasant and accommodating, although he seemed rather ill, and excused himself after the main course. Treachery and self-service have that effect on people. True, I forced him into that corner… But here’s me playing the galaxy’s smallest viola.

Leia Organa, however, was fairly decent about the whole thing, which surprised me. I’d be very upset if someone had interrogated and tortured me for hours on end and then blew up my home planet (actually, scratch that last one. I’d probably send them flowers). Yet, she remained stoic about the whole thing, keeping her obvious anger in check, and we even discussed old Republican politics for a while. She’s a born diplomat. Reminds me of… Ah, never mind.

He didn’t even TOUCH his steak.

Honestly!

**> Entry 104:**

I just realised I have absolutely no clue as to how I’m actually going to GET my son back to the Emperor.

I know these rebels. Many of them would take death before dishonour, no matter how many chances you give them, regardless of what you offer them, regardless of what you _meant_ to them and they to you.

And while I have no way of knowing that Luke is one of those, I’m not one to take chances. Therefore, I have to assume he won’t come willingly. So what are my options?

There’s shoving him in the brig and be done with it.

No, bad idea, he’s strong in the force, can probably levitate things, like keys, or mind-trick the simpletons I have for Stormtroopers. Rules that out.

There’s knocking him unconscious, and hitting him really, _really_ hard each time he wakes up.

Nah, it’s a long way back to the Imperial Center. Don’t want to damage his brain.

I could bury him neck up in a pit of sand.

Oh, Force no. Wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy, really. I hate sand.

So, so much.

But I think I’m onto something here. I just need to restrict his ability to move.

Maybe I could cut off his arms and legs?

No, that would prevent him from realising his full Sith potential. And it also really blows. Trust me, I know.

Think, Vader, THINK!

...

Bah, it’s hopeless.

Right now I feel as dumb as that carbonite-frozen box of foodstuffs over there.

…

Hey…

**> Entry 105:**

Aggressive:

adj.

  1. Characterized by aggression: aggressive behavior.
  2. Inclined to behave in an actively hostile fashion: an aggressive regime.
  3. Assertive, bold, and energetic: an aggressive sales campaign.
  4. Of or relating to an investment or approach to investing that seeks above-average returns by taking above-average risks.
  5. Fast growing; tending to spread quickly and invade: an aggressive tumor.
  6. Characterized by or inclined toward vigorous or intensive medical treatment: an aggressive approach to treating the infection.
  7. Intense or harsh, as in color.



Negotiate:

  1. intr.



To confer with another or others in order to come to terms or reach an agreement: "It is difficult to negotiate where neither will trust"

  1. tr.
  2. To arrange or settle by discussion and mutual agreement: negotiate a contract.



2.

  1. To transfer title to or ownership of (a promissory note, for example) to another party by delivery or by delivery and endorsement in return for value received.
  2. To sell or discount (assets or securities, for example).



3.

  1. To succeed in going over or coping with: negotiate a sharp curve.
  2. To succeed in accomplishing or managing: negotiate a difficult musical passage.



And those are the two key words of the day: aggressive negotiations. In which I and my son partook. I didn’t think it would be easy, and while I’m less than pleased with my end results (read: jackshit), but at least I know one thing for certain now.

When he’s ready, that boy’s going to behead the Emperor faster than you can say “Snap-hiss”.

Snap-hiss. You know, the sound a lightsaber makes when you… Actually, never mind, we’re getting off track here.

It started off simply enough. My decision to freeze Solo in Carbonite was brought up by a very good point made by Calrissian: it could prove fatal. Luke won’t be able to help me take over the galaxy if he’s all pasty and frozen and dead, so I figured Solo would be the active guinea pig. Fett wasn’t pleased about my torturing Solo in the first place (But I am nothing if a man of my word), and I could tell he was throwing a tantrum under there, but he wouldn’t dare say anything. Calrissian looked like he was going to blow chunks again, so I took my leave of both of them, to make my preparations.

Once I was all shiny again (that Tibanna gas tends to ‘cloud’ things up - ha, ha), we had them brought in to the carbon-freezing room. I was pleasantly surprised to see that the Wookie had managed, somehow, to salvage Threepio’s parts and restore him to a half-working condition.

Except that for some reason his head was on backwards.

(Note to self: If I ever speak to Solo again for whatever reason, talk with him about how hard good help is to find these days, and inquire how he managed to stay alive for so long with a brain-dead moron for a partner.)

I didn’t have time to puzzle over that for long. Fett whined some more, so I shut him up by throwing a money bag in his face (not literally, although I’ll admit it would have been amusing). Then the walking carpet got all uppity about us freezing his friend, and knocked a couple of troopers for a loop. Fett nearly shot him - it seems he has a fettish (sorry not sorry) for Wookie pelts. The only reason I stopped him is because the perpetually angry moron could have shot Threepio. 

Seriously, dude needs some fucking therapy. How come he’s the best bounty hunter in the galaxy if all he does is disintegrate anything he sees? Fine, he’s a good hitman, but what about the jobs that require a more careful approach? He is as much an asset as he is a liability. 

I’m starting to suspect that Fett either disintegrated the competition, or he’s _way_ overrated, is what I’m saying.

Solo, in a rare act of decency, calmed the rug down, during which time Organa gave me one of the nastiest looks I’ve ever received. Seriously, if looks were force-chokes, I wouldn’t be writing this (unless you can do that from the afterlife. I’ve heard about ghostwriting, but that’s just ridiculous).

It was really creepy. It reminded me of that one time Padmé walked in on me poking through her ‘unmentionables’ drawer. She looked so very much like her in that instant, that I’m ashamed to say that my jaw hit the floor under this mask, and I stared back like a drooling imbecile. Like I said, really creepy.

Then she and Solo had a moment.

Ever since Padmé passed away under unfortunate circumstances that I will not go into detail lest I spend yet another late night drinking in the cafeteria, I’ve always had a problem with couples. I get bitter, angry, jealous, nostalgic and whatnot. Thankfully, one of the stormtroopers had the tact to break that up. Someone’s getting a medal.

And then she’s all “I love you”. Barf.

And then he goes: “I know.”

‘I KNOW’?!

My personal views on romance aside, that has to be the single most horrible excuse for a romantic line I have EVER heard. Worse than the Bantha poodoo I used to spew back in the day. Seriously. “My heart is beating, hoping that kiss will not become a scar” has NOTHING on “I know.”

My stuff is, admittedly, pretty bad. 

Solo’s just not even trying.

Anyway, while the Solo-flavoured popsicle was being made, my thoughts turned again to Princess Organa. The similarity was too creepy, and I had to know more. So once Solo was ready, I arranged to have the Princess and the Wookie (really, it was for Threepio, I was going to shoot the shag carpet out of an airlock later) brought aboard my ship under threat, much to Calrissian’s dismay. For those of you who have been keeping count, the deal between Calrissian and myself has now evolved from

“Help me trap Skywalker, and I’ll leave your little operations and friends alone.”

to

“Help me trap Skywalker, and I’ll leave your little operation alone and you keep watch on your friends.”

to

“Help me trap Skywalker, and I’ll leave your little operation alone if I feel like it.”

As a side note, I was going to occupy it anyway, and there is in fact now a permanent Imperial garrison installed on Bespin, and Calrissian is currently a fugitive. Funny how things work out, hmm?

Anyway, that’s what you get from trying to rip Big Imperial Brother off. We always get you in the end.

Where was I? Oh, right, back to the story.

So basically, I booted everyone out of the chamber while I got ready to face my son, who had just arrived. I took the time to work on my scary voice - I knew once I got him good and scared, he’d get all angry, and you know where that leads to.

This is the one part I’m really proud of - I had things arranged just so that he knew it was a trap for him. He found his way to me, along which, at my direction, he was separated from R2. I may be able to best my son in combat, but I’m taking no chances with that droid. It could probably set my respirator to auto-inhale if it got close, and that wouldn’t be very much fun.

Immediately I set about creeping the hell out of the kid with “the Force is with you, young Skywalker, but you are not a Jedi yet.”

Translation: Let’s do this.

And so we did. The aggressive negotiations began. I was pleasantly surprised to see that he was, in fact, using my old lightsaber. This really made me happy. After all, I was getting back my droid, my saber and my son, all in one day! What a deal!

Anyway, he was better than I thought he would be. His form needs some work, however. I punked him at the very beginning, even tossing him flat on his butt with one hand. I even maneuvered him right down into the carbon-freeze pit, and I was kind of disappointed for a moment. Looked like he sucked, but nope. 

The kid actually jumped all the way out, up to the top. He’d impressed the hell out of me now, so I began to take him a bit more seriously, taunting him, telling him to release his anger, confusing him, so and so forth. Good thing too, because he showed me he’s not afraid to play dirty (what a great Sith he’ll make. So proud!). He actually blasted me in the face with a hose (never thought I’d be grateful for the helmet), and then wound up maneuvering ME so I fell off the platform.

I was so proud of the kid, I could have squealed. But I didn’t. Instead, I brought the fight down into Cloud City’s lower levels. I suppose that this is when I began to have an urge to play some baseball. He is my son, after all, and this is the first time we were spending any quality time together. What kind of a father would I be if I neglected to play baseball with my kid? Unfortunately, he didn’t get the joke when I started to hurl pieces of machinery at him. Perhaps he isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but damn it if I’m not proud of him!

Which made me realise something which really irked me.

The kid had absolutely no clue I was his old man. I had suspected it earlier, but thought he might have some inkling, some suspicion. I thought he must have felt the connection, at least, when we met. But, no. Nothing.

Obi-Wan never told him I was his father.

Oh, that really pissed me off.

I suppose, in hindsight, that was probably one of the causes of what happened next. As I focused on my rage, I was letting pieces of machinery fly left and right, and one took him on the back of the head, and then a couple more hit him. I should have been paying attention, but really, so should he, so it’s not really my fault.

Another took out the window, and that really sucked. Literally. The pressure sucked the kid out of the window and I had to lean against a wall - not because of the pressure, I was able to stand upright a second later - but just because I was so pissed off at Obi-Wan I had involuntarily stopped breathing.

And then I got an idea. Stop breathing, eh?

I followed the kid down, and hid around a corner, stifling the urge to chuckle, because this was going to be great. I was actually having fun, for oce.

When I popped out, I’m pretty sure I scared six shades of poodoo out of him.

No, let’s be fair.

Seven.

So, we aggressively negotiated our way across the platform. I almost had him, and told him so, but nothing fights like a caged animal, and he started realising I had his back against a wall, what with us being in the middle of the city’s underbelly, thousands upon thousands of feet in mid-air in the centre of an air shaft.

Then I realised the same, and I got distracted by that, and got nicked in the shoulder for my trouble. Something about that bothered me. He could have very well taken my arm off, but didn’t. He just nicked me.

Or maybe he did sense I was his old man, and didn’t really want to hurt me?

Anyways, it didn’t matter. The Sith part of me got all upset, that being a wasted opportunity, so I decided to show him how it was really done. Plus, my shoulder isn’t mechanic, so it really hurt like hell.

And so it was that I negotiated his hand off.

Aggressively.

Ah, like father, like son.

The downside was, no more old lightsaber for me. 

:(

He screamed about it, but I paid it no mind. It was just a severed hand, no big deal. He’ll recover, take it from me.

I figured now was a good time to ask him about what he knew as any. And wouldn’t you know it?

“He told me enough! He told me you killed him!”

Oh, Obi-Wan. How I wish you had not disappeared into thin air when I hacked you in half. I wish you were buried instead. That way, I could dig you up, chop you into tiny pieces, and flush you down a latrine. It wasn’t enough with all that you did against me, but you’ve got to lie to my son about me too? For shame, Obi-Wan. For shame.

Well, I mean, I _guess_ you could say that, from a certain point of view, the man I am now killed the man I used to be.

But quite frankly, that certain point of view sounds like absolute bullshit to me.

So, here I was. My son thought I’d killed his dad, and hated me more than anything in the world.

What was I to say? I thought of many things.

“Nope, try again!”

“Son, do you know what a ‘point of view’ is?”

“The thing about Obi-Wan is, he’s kind of an asshole.”

“Uh, you know what happens when a man and a woman love each other very very much?”

“You’d be surprised how easy it is to change your name in this day and age.”

“I know how you’re feeling since your aunt and uncle died. You need a family. I know of another smelly treacherous old man who’d make a great grandfather!”

“Who’s yer daddy? It me!”

That one got the right idea, so in the end, I just modified it a bit.

“No. _I_ am your father.”

I mean, less is more, right?

And then the denial kicked in, which I set aside for him by telling him to search his feelings, to feel our bond through the Force. He did, and then the waterworks kicked in.

Now, nothing stops a baby from crying quite like a sugary treat, so I offered him the galaxy and told him to come with me.

Props to Obi-Wan for telling him to never talk to strangers who offer you candy and say they’re related to you or something, because he instead elected to jump off the edge.

Which was really rude, but eh.

Now, I’ve done my homework. I knew where he’d end up. And the news hit me then, as I made a dash for my shuttle to got catch the kid, that Calrissian had turned traitor (again) and freed Organa and the Wookie. I was upset, but I suppose I should have expected that. Having absolutely no faith in my forces to bring them in (Oh, Rex, if you only saw what has become of our army...), and knowing Organa & Co. would somehow wind up saving my son, because the Force works in mysterious ways like that, I opted instead to head back for my Star Destroyer, to await for them as they fled the planet.

And save him they did - I made contact with him aboard their ship, mind-to-mind. I reached him for a second, confused and addled and cauterised as he was, before he shut me out. Fair enough, I thought, he’s had a busy day, and should take some time to rest before he’s brought into custody. Their hyperdrive was deactivated, after all, so I could afford to give him a couple minutes, I thought.

That’s about the time when they went into hyperdrive.

See what I mean about that little droid?

I’m not even making assumptions. I just _know_. Trust me.

Having failed me yet again, my officers were rightly frightened that I would take out my vexations on them.

But for the first time in ages, I found I was not vexed. Not upset in any way.

I have a powerful son who will one day join me, taking his rightful place as the ruler of the galaxy. Today was simply not that day. There will be another.

It is inevitable.

I left my men alone, made my report to my Master. His rebuking for losing Skywalker did not faze me in the slightest.

My son is strong in the Force. For that, I am proud, and today, nothng can’t touch me.

A hell of a day.

I’m not worried about losing him.

Not in the slightest. 

One day soon, he will return to me.

It is his destiny.

Our destiny.

**> Entry 106:**

As I’ve said, there are times when I lose faith in the entire Empire. This transcription from an Holotext chat I’ve just participated in should suffice to show you why:

**LordVader has joined #ImpHiCom**

**Welcome To Imperial High Command Holotext! There is currently no topic set.**

**(08:26) LordVader:** I can't believe Coruscant's Holonet went down.

 **(08:26) LordVader:** I'm sorry, "Imperial Centre". Blegh.

**LordVader sets topic**

**Today's topic is "Deathstar II Project."**

**(08:26) LordVader:** This is going to suck, I know it.

 **(08:30) LordVader:** Where is everyone?

 **(08:31) LordVader:** Oh, right. It doesn't start for a half hour yet.

**LordVader sets topic**

**Topic is "Palpatine smells funny."**

**LordVader:** Heh heh heh.

**LordVader sets topic**

**Today's topic is "Deathstar II Project"**

**(08:35) LordVader:** ...

 **(08:39) LordVader:** Doot doot doot dooty doot dooty doot.

**JJ has joined #ImpHiCom**

**(08:41) JJ:** Lord Vader, sir.

 **(08:41) LordVader:** At ease, Commander Jerjerrod.

 **(08:41) JJ:** Thank you, sir.

 **(08:41) LordVader:** How goes the project?

 **(08:41) JJ:** Well, to be honest, we're only about 60% done.

 **(08:42) LordVader:** He's going to throw a fit, you know.

 **(08:42) JJ:** I'm sorry, sir.

 **(08:42) LordVader:** _He’s_ going to throw a fit, not me. I have no quarrel with you. Craft takes time, especially when we’re talking about a moon sized world-buster. But just try telling the Emperor that.

 **(08:42) JJ:** I need more men, that's the problem.

 **(08:42) LordVader:** Don't we all?

 **(08:42) JJ:** ...Sir?

 **(08:42) LordVader:** jk. Otherwise, I would have walked right into that one.

 **(08:42) JJ:** lol

**AdmiralPiett has joined #ImpHiCom**

**(08:42) JJ:** Hello, Admiral.

 **(08:43) LordVader:** Hey.

 **(08:43) JJ:** Hello.

 **(08:43) AdmiralPiett:** Sir!

 **(08:43) LordVader:** We're at ease, Admiral. I should probably make that known.

**LordVader sets topic**

**Today's topic is "Deathstar II Project" - WE ARE CURRENTLY AT EASE**

**(08:43) AdmiralPiett:** Alright then. How goes things?

 **(08:43) JJ:** Lord Vader and I were just talking about how we need men.

 **(08:43) AdmiralPiett:** ...uh, what?

 **(08:43) LordVader:** Indeed, Admiral. Big strong beefy men.

 **(08:43) AdmiralPiett:** I...see.

 **(08:43) JJ:** We're only kidding around, Firmus.

 **(08:44) AdmiralPiett:** Don't call me that.

 **(08:44) JJ:** Why not? It's your name.

 **(08:44) AdmiralPiett:** Yes, my first name. I'd prefer my last, thank you.

 **(08:44) JJ:** Haha. Firmus. School must have been terrible for you.

 **(08:44) AdmiralPiett:** Shut up.

 **(08:44) LordVader:** Just because we are at ease does not give us the right to be stupid.

 **(08:44) JJ:** But I was just sa-

**LordVader mutes room (-M)**

**(08:45) LordVader:** A great man once said that the ability to speak does not make you intelligent.

**LordVader de-mutes room (+M)**

**(08:45) AdmiralPiett:** Forgiveness, sir.

 **(08:45) LordVader:** That's okay. Just think before you speak next time.

**V33RS has joined #ImpHiCom**

**(08:45) V33RS:** Hello.

 **(08:45) LordVader:** Good evening, Max.

 **(08:45) AdmiralPiett:** Veers, always a pleasure. But...should you be in here? No offense, but this is high command chat.

 **(08:45) LordVader:** It's all right. He has my special permission. He did win the Hoth battle for us, after all. And in this day and age of oh-so-stellar command, that's saying something.

 **(08:46) V33RS:** :D

**(08:46) JJ: Sir?**

**(08:46) LordVader:** No offense, Jerjerrod, but the honest truth is that when a ragtag band of ill-equipped, ill-funded, poorly trained rebels manages to not only destroy an 'invincible' battle station, but outfight the majority of our troops, set up headquarters on multiple planets, and become a consistent thorn in the Empire's side for years, you know you need new help.

 **(08:48) LordVader:** Oh, don't get so nervous. I won't do any choking until it's called for.

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**(08:48) LordVader:** Panaka? Panaka...Panaka...hmmm...

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**(08:48) MoffPanaka:** Yes, Lord Vader?

 **(08:48) LordVader:** Your name is ringing a really loud bell at the back of my mind.

 **(08:48) MoffPanaka:** I'm afraid we've never had the pleasure of meeting, sir.

 **(08:48) LordVader:** Please, don't be so formal. Or I'll throttle you. Now, tell me...did you ever serve on Naboo?

 **(08:49) MoffPanaka:** Why yes, sir. I was once assistant to the Queen at the time...Amidala, yes, that was it. I was captain of her Royal Guard.

 **(08:49) LordVader:** :O

 **(08:49) MoffPanaka:** Did I know you during that time?

 **(08:49) LordVader:** Now is not the time for it, Panaka. But let's just say that you and I need to go get a drink sometime. It's on me.

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**(08:49) MoffPanaka:** Why, thank you!

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**(08:49) LordVader:** Don't mention it. I'm in dire need of some stimulating conversation.

 **(08:50) JJ:** I understand how you feel, sir.

 **(08:50) LordVader:** It's one of the reasons I talk to myself so often in your presence, Jerjerrod.

 **(08:50) V33RS:** Oh, burn!

 **(08:50) LordVader:** Just messing with you.

 **(08:50) JJ:** All in good fun, sir.

**Hethrir has joined #ImpHiCom**

**(08:55) Hethrir:** :)

 **(08:57) Pestage:** Go away. No one likes you.

 **(08:57) Hethrir:** :(

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**(08:58) LordVader:** Thanks. God, I can't stand him.

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**(08:58) GrandAdmiralBatch:** Hello, all.

 **(08:58) V33RS:** Welcome, sir.

 **(08:58) GrandAdmiralBatch:** I'm not late, am I?

 **(08:58) AdmiralPiett:** No, as a matter of fact, you're just on time.

 **(08:58) V33RS:** Ten to one says everyone comes scuttling in RIGHT as it's supposed to start.

 **(08:58) AdmiralSarn:** I'll see that bet, and I'll buy the drinks.

 **(08:58) V33RS:** It's on, then.

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**(08:58) AdmiralRoek:** Hello, all.

 **(08:58) JJ:** G'day.

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**(08:59) LordVader:** Sloane and Thrawn? This is a surprise, to be sure. We didn't think you'd get the memo in time, being all the way out there.

 **(08:59) AdmiralSloane:** Simplicity in itself, sir.

 **(08:59) GrandAddyThrawn:** I anticipated this meeting.

 **(08:59) LordVader:** Fair enough.

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**(08:59) LordVader:** Oo

 **(08:59) AdmiralSarn:** DAMMIT

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**(09:00) V33RS:** BOO-YA!

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**(09:00) LordVader:** So, Thrawn, how are the Noghri?

 **(09:00) GrandAddyThrawn:** Well enough. My thanks for them, sir.

 **(09:00) LordVader:** Not like I have any time to use them these days.

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**AdmiralOzzel has been ejected from #ImpHiCom (You are banned from #ImpHiCom. Reason:** Failing Lord Vader. Don't do it again. **Ban Expiration:** We'll see. **)**

 **(09:01) AdmiralPiett:** wtf

 **(09:01) AdmiralSloane:** He's dead, isn't he?

 **(09:01) LordVader:** Yes, I choked him until he died from it, I did.

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**(09:01) AdmiralPiett:** I honestly wouldn't be surprised if he didn't have a holonet access password, and just left it open for public use.

 **(09:01) V33RS:** Yeah, he was like that.

 **(09:01) LordVader:** Clumsy, stupid, AND careless. Lovely combination.

 **(09:01) AdmiralKrennel:** I heard he was into bothan pr0n.

 **(09:01) AdmiralPiett:** Again, I wouldn't be surprised.

 **(09:01) GrandAdmiralIshiin:** Well, who says that was actually Ozzel?

 **(09:01) AdmiralReshirt:** Come again?

 **(09:01) GrandAdmiralIshiin:** Someone could have just changed their name to his account ID to try and infiltrate this briefing.

 **(09:01) AdmiralRoek:** A rebel spy?

 **(09:01) GrandAdmiralTeshik:** It's plausible. Easy enough to change your name on this thing. Watch.

**GrandAdmiralTeshik Name-Shift: MonMothma**

**(09:02) MonMothma:** See?

 **MonMothma was kicked from #ImpHiCom by LordVader (** You rebel scum. :D **)**

 **(09:02) AdmiralPiett:** BAHAHA

 **(09:02) V33RS:** ROFL

 **(09:02) GrandAddyThrawn:** Heh.

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**(09:02) GrandAdmiralTeshik:** Walked right into that one, didn’t I.

 **(09:02) JJ:** Haha...sorry, but he got you good.

 **(09:03) GrandAddyThrawn:** On a serious note, it really couldn't have been anyone else's account, Ishiin. Official imperial usernames are registered, and remain so even in the case of death. And besides, it was banned from the source network. Someone was on his personal station trying to get in.

 **(09:03) GrandAdmiralIshiin:** Damn, didn't think about that.

 **(09:03) GrandAddyThrawn:** And this is why I get promoted :P

 **(09:03) GrandAdmiralTigellinus:** So, Thrawn, how is life in the unknown regions, anyway?

 **(09:03) GrandAddyThrawn:** ...

 **(09:03) JJ:** Ouch.

 **(09:03) AdmiralSloane:** No xenophobia in the channel.

 **(09:03) LordVader:** At least not until the Emperor gets here.

 **(09:04) LordVader:** That was a joke.

 **(09:04) LordVader:** Kind of.

 **(09:04) GrandAdmiralTakel:** Isn't he late?

 **(09:04) Pestage:** Yes, actually. Hold on, I'll see what the hold-up is. AFK for a bit.

 **(09:04) AdmiralRoek:** Vader has the right idea, we should at least try to keep it positive in here, regardless of our differences.

 **(09:04) GrandAdmiralBatch:** We should do impressions.

 **(09:04) V33RS:** Good idea. Without meaning disrespect for the dead, sir, may I do Tarkin?

 **(09:05) LordVader:** It's indecent, but the Force knows we've all done worse. Indulge us, Max. But go back to your regular name after the changeover, those threes look silly. That goes for both Jerjerrod and Thrawn as well.

**GrandAddyThrawn Name-Shift GrandAdmiralThrawn**

**JJ Name-Shift MoffJerjerrod**

**(09:05) V33RS:** Very well, sir, and thank you.

**V33RS Name-Shift Tarkin**

**(09:05) Tarkin:** BUHHHHHHHHHHHH I LOOKED THIS WAY EVEN BEFORE THE DEATH STAR BLEW UP

 **(09:05) GrandAdmiralPitta:** LOL

 **(09:05) JJ:** Haha, he did kind of look decrepit.

 **(09:05) LordVader:** Sick but amusing.

**Tarkin Name-Shift GeneralVeers**

**(09:06) AdmiralReshirt:** Ooh, ooh! I have one!

 **(09:06) LordVader:** Go ahead, Reshirt.

**AdmiralReshirt Name-Shift Emperor**

**(09:06) AdmiralSloane:** Uh-oh.

 **(09:06) GrandAdmiralThrawn:** Not a good idea.

 **(09:06) LordVader:** No. Change it back.

**Empror66 has joined #ImpHiCom**

**(09:06) Emperor:** BLLLLARGHHHHHHHH I LOOKED THIS WAY SINCE THE SITH WAR ERA! BRAAAINS!

 **(09:06) Emperor:** Uh-oh

 **(09:08) Empror66:** lord vader, if you please?

 **(09:08) LordVader:** Yes, Master.

 **(09:08) Empror66:** my apologies, my loyal underlings, for my tardy arival.

 **(09:08) Empror66:** arrival

 **(09:08) Emperor:** im sorry sir

 **(09:08) Empror66:** now, as you all well know, our agenda for tday concerns the constrction of a new deth star 

**(09:08) Empror66:** above teh forest moon of endor

 **(09:08) Empror66:** today, constuction, death, the

 **(09:08) Emperor:** OH GOD I CAN'T BREATHE

 **(09:08) Empror66:** i should probably mention beforehand that im not used to holokeys. it has been sometime 

**(09:08) Empror66:** since i have used them.

 **(09:08) Emperor:** I'M SORRY PLEASE SPARE ME MY LORDS

 **(09:08) Emperor:** I BEG YOU

 **(09:08) Empror66:** so please ignor any typos you see.

 **(09:09) Empror66:** Ignore

 **(09:09) Emperor:** I'M CHOKING UP BLOOD HERE COME ON PEOPLE

 **(09:09) Emperor:** SOMEBODY DO SOMETHING

 **(09:09) Empror66:** oh very well. ill stop talking until this is done.

 **(09:09) Emperor:** I DON'T WANNA DIE

 **(09:09) Emperor:** PLEASE HELP

 **(09:11) LordVader:** Okay, done now.

 **(09:11) Empror66:** excellent. now as we were saying

 **(09:11) Emperor:** MMMNNNNNNNBBBBBBGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

 **(09:11) Empror66:** what teh devil?

 **(09:11) Emperor:** DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

 **(09:11) GrandAdmiralThrawn:** He must have fallen onto the holokeys.

 **(09:11) Emperor:** DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

 **(09:11) LordVader:** Oh, for the love of-

 **(09:11) Emperor:** DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

 **Emperor was kicked from #ImpHiCom by LordVader (** You died **)**.

 **(09:12) Empror66:** good. gooood.

 **(09:12) Empror66:** now then

 **(09:12) Empror66:** the rumors are indeed true, there is a second death star being constructed in orbit around endor

 **(09:12) Empror66:** it is understandabe that some of you may hve reservatuions about this, considering what happened to the last one

 **(09:12) Empror66:** understandable, have reservations

 **(09:12) Empror66:** however, rest assured that measures are being taken to ensure that no such weakness is inherent in the current models constuction

 **(09:12) Empror66:** construction. wow i stink today

 **(09:12) Empror66:** specifically, there will be no unshielded thermal exhaust ports (don't ask, we wordked around it

 **(09:13) Empror66:** worked

 **(09:13) LordVader:** I am, for the record, still convinced this is a bad idea.

 **(09:13) Empror66:** lord vader, a word in private?

 **(09:13) Empror66:** if you ever undermine my authority in public like that again, ill let all your hopeful usurpers know that the red knob on your chest is an 'off' switch. are we clear?

 **(09:14) Empror66:** oops wrong channel. haha

**Now entering Private Convo mode: LordVader-Empror66 Personal Message box**

**(09:13) Empror66:** if you ever undermine my authority in public like that again, ill let all your hopeful userpers know that the red knob on your chest is an 'off' switch. are we clear?

 **(09:13) LordVader:** Yes, my master. I apologize.

**You have reactivated #ImpHiCom as primary convo channel**

**(9:15) AdmiralPiett:** Sir...?

 **(9:15) Empror66:** a minor detail. you're forgeting about seeing it even as we speak.

 **(9:15) Empror66:** forgettng

 **(9:15) Empror66:** fogrting

**(9:15) Empror66: [Censored by ImpHiCom]**

**(9:15) Empror66:** asfkhjalkfniunfiuahfihbuihgdyfgsdf

 **(9:15) Empror66:** you will forget about that too

**Emperor has joined #ImpHiCom**

**(9:15) Empror66:** now, as to the

 **(9:15) Emperor:** DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

 **(9:15) Empror66:** oh not again

 **(9:15) Emperor:** DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

 **(9:16) MoffJerjerrod:** How is this possible?

 **(9:16) Emperor:** DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

 **(9:16) GrandAdmiralThrawn:** Just because they've been ejected from the channel doesn't mean they're not still lying dead on the holokeys.

 **(9:16) Emperor:** DDDDDDDDDDDDD

 **(9:16) AdmiralSloane:** Hold on, I'll fix it.

 **(9:16) Emperor:** DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

**AdmiralSloane sets mode: -V/Blacklist-Provider-0998546832**

**Emperor Name-Shift AdmiralReshirt**

**Admiral Reshirt has been permanently banned and blacklisted (Ban Expiration: None).**

**(9:16) Empror66:** very good, admiral

 **(9:16) LordVader:** Sloane. I remember your name now. If memory serves, you are in fact not an Admiral.

 **(9:17) AdmiralSloane:** No, sir, I am not.

 **(9:17) LordVader:** Your appearance here is a breach of security, then.

 **(9:17) AdmiralSloane:** It is, my lord.

 **(9:17) GrandAdmiralThrawn:** She is here at my behest, sirs. I have observed her service record, and believe she will have a place here with us in the future.

 **(9:17) GrandAdmiralThrawn:** I merely wished to accommodate her with the higher echelons of command. I supplied her with access codes to this meeting, and forged her ID code. But as you have seen, she shows commendable initiative and skill.

 **(9:18) GrandAdmiralThrawn:** I will accept all blame and consequences for these actions.

 **(9:18) LordVader:** Is this true..."Admiral"?

 **(9:18) AdmiralSloane:** Yes, my lord.

 **(9:18) Empror66:** you both take foolish and unecessary risks

 **(9:18) LordVader:** Shall I dispense with them, master?

 **(9:18) Empror66:** there is no need. duplicity can be a virtue in itself, and furthermore, this Sloane will indeed bring the empire to a success of some sort. I have forseen it.

 **(9:18) Empror66:** you may stay for the duration of this meeting, impostor.

 **(9:18) AdmiralSloane:** Thank you, my lord.

 **(9:18) GrandAdmiralThrawn:** Am I to be punished, my lord?

 **(9:18) Empror66:** for this occasion, no. but solely becase you have shown remarkabe intellignce and foresight in the past. i will permist this, but perform no such act again

 **(9:19) Empror66:** as well, i have not forgotten your heritage, thrawn. be mindful of that.

 **(9:19) GrandAdmiralThrawn:** Yes, my lord. All apologies.

 **(9:19) LordVader:** If we are finished with this distraction...?

 **(9:19) Empror66:** lord vader is correct. as to the station, it will be armd and operational before the exerior shell is compete

 **(9:19) Empror66:** armed, exterior, complete

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**(9:19) AdmiralHackbar:** Guess what

 **(9:19) Empror66:** eh?

 **(9:19) AdmiralHackbar:** IT'S A TRAP

**AdmiralHackbar sets mode -F;shattercmd**

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**(9:19) GeneralVeers:** wtf

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**(9:20)AdmiralSloane:** HOLOSPLIT

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**(9:20) AdmiralPiett:** Intensify firewall security!

 **(9:20) MoffJerjerrod:** Too late!

**AdmiralPiett has been ejected from #ImpHiCom**

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**(9:21) GrandAdmiralThrawn:** pwnd

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**(9:21) LordVader:** NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

**LordVader has been ejected from #ImpHiCom**

… and there you have it. We were unable to re-establish communication for four standard hours, and by that time the Emperor had gone off to the infirmary to get his hip checked, so we called the whole thing off.

My Admirals are petty, disrespectful squabblers with a childish penchant for numerical screen names, my Grand Admirals are either mute or treacherous, my security team on CORUSCANT can’t prevent rebel slicers from infiltrating our supposedly top secret secure private meetings, and my master cannot, for the life of him, use technologies that have been around for eons.

Is it any wonder I have this urge to activate my lightsaber in my mouth?

I miss the old days. Going to call Panaka now, go get that drink.

**> Entry 107:**

I have spent some time in thought about this, and I have realised what my Master truly is

He’s not an all-knowing, all-powerful Sith Lord.

He’s not a wise master.

He’s not even an universal dictator.

He’s a magic fortune-telling ball. You know, those little ones that younglings buy for, what, eighteen wupiwupi at the hobbies store? You ask a question, shake it, and it gives you one of several possible responses. Here, I’ll show you what I mean:

“Everything is proceeding as exactly as I have foreseen it.”

“Search your feelings.”

“The future is clouded, and difficult to sense at the moment.”

“The answers will come in time.”

Any day now, I’m expecting a “Clear your thoughts, Lord Vader, and ask again.”

If we’re going to have an expressionless, automated, cryptic object sitting atop the Imperial throne, it might as well be my own helmet. At least I shower.

**> Entry 108:**

After months of vigorous searching, and having no leads as to his whereabouts since he eluded us on Bespin, we finally caught up to him.

We located the rebel base in which he was hiding, and tore it apart.

He fled, but to no avail. We chased his X-Wing for what seemed like hours, and I was fortunate enough to disable his hyperdrive engine. The Executor was on the scene, and we brought him into our docking bay.

Kicking and screaming, we brought him to an interrogation room.

Days passed. Weeks.

His resilience was admirable, but in the end, like everyone else, he cracked and told us what we needed to know.

After verifying his information, we acquired that which I need in order to dominate the galaxy.

We dispatched him through the airlock. It was a merciful death, and he had earned as much.

And now, I have it.

It makes me powerful.

It gives me focus.

Along with this cup of Jawa juice, I am now enjoying the first truly good batch of Chilly Chadra-Fan Berry Ice Cream I have had in years.

**> Entry 109:**

Maybe my Master isn’t all he could be in the sanity department these days. Maybe he did manipulate his way into the higher echelons of government, and maybe he did mastermind a devastating war that costed millions of lives. His tactics have always been questionable, but it was all for the greater good of the galaxy. That’s why I pay the naysayers no mind. People will say things.

But these rumours going around, that he’s collected my son’s hand and is keeping it as a memento?

No. I don’t buy that. That’s just plain weird.

**> Entry 110:**

All this talking about sons and fathers gave me thought: Who was my dad? I never knew him. My mother always said she raised me alone. Growing up, I began to accept that I was something of a miracle. I was born to be the chosen one, by will of the Force.

But I’ve begun thinking lately that there’s a scientific explanation for everything. I remembered something my Master once said, that his master could “create life”. I began to get curious, so I did some research, checked captured Jedi archives, Sith holocrons, and found nothing.

Finally, I questioned the old man. He seemed rather edgy, and said “the midichlorians did it” before running off to get his sponge bath.

Does no one want to talk about this issue or what?

**> Entry 111:**

I’ve lost my wallet.

Stop laughing. This isn’t funny.

I have absolutely no idea as to where it could currently be located.

I’ve retraced my steps, and the last time I can recall having it was on the elevator leading up to the bridge about two days ago.

It’s got my code clearance ID, my personal ID, my command ID, pilot’s license, some old photos of Padmé and I goofing around in a holosnapshoot booth (I always loved the one where she’s sticking out her tongue. So adorable), the Emperor’s personal contact number, and most worrying, my credit card.

This is what you get when there are no storage compartments in your mechanical legs, and you try to sew pockets into your cape instead. I never was any good at sewing things, just at fixing them.

**> Entry 112:**

I’m getting real sick and tired of Xizor being smug around me. Offering me ships at the price I name… It’s just slimy. He could at least try to argue or haggle over price, pretend to openly hate my guts. I don’t know what he’s got against me, but I’m going to find out.

I actually am somewhat relieved I don’t have to take too much out of my personal stash. Still, I’m uneasy. Going to go to the bank tomorrow, have my card listed as missing. 

**> Entry 113:**

In a perfect galaxy, the only public servants are sentients.

That way, nobody has to put up with stupid droids sticking to routine. Arguing with you and denying you access to your own account due to lack of identification.

I’m Darth Vader. it’s what people know me for being. I think those two words say enough. But for the especially dense, the black suit, helmet, mask, cape, and RED LIGHTSABER usually give it away.

But none of that matters to surly droid programming. The bottom line was, if you do not present two pieces of identification, you’re up a lava creek without your arms or legs.

ID? All gone. Birth certificate? Never had one.

Even after removing his limbs, bit by bit, the blasted droid still wouldn’t let me alter my account.

I had a long talk with records and personnel, who, I am pleased to say, showed a little more respect, and replacements for my ID are on the way. But that will take some time. I just hope no one’s actually found the wallet.

Blasted droids. Well, at least now I have a new paperweight.

**> Entry 114:**

As if I didn’t have enough to deal with, what with Xizor and these blasted meetings, now the matter of money comes up just as I’ve lost access to it.

Some bounty hunters have captured Skywalker. We were more than happy to make their asking price, except there’s another party bidding who wants him dead.

Luckily, we’ve tracked them. The surface reason is that we’re the Empire, and you don’t haggle with us.

The real reason is that I can’t afford what the price has been driven up to now.

**> Entry 115:**

My credit card bill arrived this morning. Among those things which I have apparently purchased this month - and boy, is the list long - are:

\- An XP-5 landspeeder.

\- “Private female Twi’lek services’

\- A J-327 Nubian (not bad)

\- A small moon.

\- Pants.

There’s a thirteen-digit figure attached to that card. It could buy Coruscant, and then some. I’m not worried about cost, it’s the inconvenience of the thing that annoys me.

**> Entry 116:**

The Emperor wants to know why people are calling him up at five in the morning and asking if his cryo-storage unit is running.

**> Entry 117:**

Something strange has been happening to me.

I didn’t kill that rebel pilot (even though he was spinning, and I was impressed).

I didn’t kill that bounty hunter for allowing Luke to escape (although I suppose I am proud of him and his resourcefulness)

I didn’t kill the bank manager for having such a stubborn droid.

There’s been over a month without any of my officers being choked to death.

I no longer feel angry, just… tired.

Dare I say it?

I’m not the Sith I should be.

**> Entry 118:**

As a child, it was my fondest dream to journey to every planet, every star system that the galaxy has to offer.

I know now that such a dream was unrealistic and unachievable, and that I will never see them all, but I have immersed myself in such research, and been to so many places, that I think I now feel safe in saying this:

I’ve been around, but I have never, ever, seen another alien who is wrinkled and green and looks like a puppet.

I’ve always wondered what species he was, and I suspect I will never know.

**> Entry 119:**

I feel an end is drawing near. Closer, by the day.

That might be due to what I witnessed today from a private location wherein I met a most interesting man, with most interesting intel on prince Xizor. There’s a lot to review before I make any moves, but it’s irrelevant now. I’m still rather shook up by what I saw.

I clearly read “Episode VI: Return of the Jedi.”

Big.

Blasted.

Yellow.

Text.

AGAIN.

Right out there in space, for everyone to see.

And strangely, no one on the street was looking up. Not a soul. Not a word about it on the holos, either.

I don’t know if I’m seeing things. Maybe the Force is playing games with me.

Maybe my optic sensors need some serious re-tuning.

Maybe my mid-life crisis is making me see things. I _am_ pushing fifty.

Either way, the prospect of the Jedi returning has been enough to get me anxious. I’m wired out of my helmet on my sixth cup of caf tonight. I won’t deny it. I’m scared.

My hand’s shaking now. Whether from fear, the caf, or that my elbow has been acting up again, I don’t know. Probably all of them.

And when I’m scared, I get angry. And when I get angry, I get hateful. And when I get hateful, I end up limbless and burnt to a crisp in intensive care and get stuck into a robotic suit that causes you eternal pain and agony for the petty amusement of my Master.

But you knew that already, right?

**> Entry 120:**

How do you even pronounce Xizor properly, anyway? I’m not sure I’m doing it right. Maybe that’s why he’s so angry at me. I’ve been going with “Shee-zor.” There’s “Zye-zor”, “Zee-zor”, “Kshi-zor”...

I need to pay more attention to the world around me. That’s the problem when everything you hear is filtered into your ears electronically. You never know if you hear things wrong. It’s why I like writing here so much.

Got to head off. Meeting with Jar-jarrod.

Isn’t that weird? His name is spelled with an E, but it’s pronounce like…

Whoops.

**> Entry 121:**

Okay, that tears it. I’m seeing things again, I’m hearing things wrong, I have a credit card bill the size of a Carrack-class cruiser, and I haven’t slept in three days.

And now I find out Xizor’s after my son.

I don’t care if I killed his entire family on some ill-fated, contrived, senseless experiment years back. It was an accident, come on! I didn’t even pull the trigger, I just headed the operation.

They told me that something went wrong, and that they’d fix it. It’s not my fault.

Who the hell is petty enough to harbour decades-long grudges?

I’m fed up of him. Whether he’s got the Emperor’s ear, interest, attention, or hand in horrible, horrible marriage, it’s personal now. He’s going to answer for his actions.

Tonight I dine on Falleen soup.

**> Entry 122:**

In the chaos surrounding our attack on Xizor’s skyhook, my son and his friends eluded me again. But I’ll get them next time.

It’s kind of depressing, this game of felinx and chadra-fan. Make me feel almost gulty, like some sort of villain, chasing people around the galaxy.

You ever feel like your whole life is some overly-complicated, multi-chaptered dramatic space opera? I get that way sometimes.

**> Entry 123:**

And so it goes. After reviewing progress reports from Jerjerrod (or Jar-Jar, as I’ve started calling him - it was certainly a mistake at first, but now it’s just plain funny the more I think about it) on the second Death Star, we have determined that they’re a full month behind schedule. The Emperor and I were originally going to come together and suggest quicker methods of construction (i.e: intimidate the whole crew into going without sleep). However, he’s thrown his back out again, and it will be a week or so before he can get here.

I’m in my shuttle at the moment, and we’re coming up on it now.

Why did it have to be here? It’s almost as if he deliberately does it to torment me.

Well, time to settle in for yet another two consecutive weeks of nightmares about cannibalistic bears made from sand.

Yes, I have a way of anticipating the worst.

**> Entry 124:**

It’s a good thing this suit is airtight. Following my walking through a door into a vacuum of deep space, and floating outside the mess hall windows for a bit, I’ve had a bit of a chat with Developmental Security, which has resulted in some Developmental-Security shaped indentations in the walls. Let that be a lesson: safety matters.

**> Entry 125:**

Five security heads fell down reactor shafts today. Coincidentally, the same thing almost happened to me three days ago! I swear, this place is a death trap.

**> Entry 126:**

It might have been the conversation I had with Jar-Jar, or my complaints with Dev. Sec, but I’m noticing a marked improvement in efficiency among the workers here, and I feel a lot more secure. There have only been five elevator-related fatalities this week, as opposed to last week’s seventeen. That’s saying quite a bit. I just wish we could keep production costs down. For some unfathomable reason we’re spending an extra sixty thousand credits on personnel this month.

**> Entry 127:**

The Emperor arrived this afternoon. As per usual, he was a walking mass of predictability. Of course I want to “continue my search for Skywalker”, he’s my long lost son, you doddering old fart…

What’s that, you say? Bring him before you? Wow, I never thought you’d say that! It’s not like I ever expected you to allow me to turn him on my own, or anything!

You know, in some ways… Actually, in _most_ ways, I’m ahead of my Master. I’m sure I could turn my son just as well as he could. Even better! And I will. You watch and see.

I might be having a mid-life crisis, but I’m still strong enough with the dark side to turn an impressionable mind to do my bidding.

And if that’s not enough, I’ll just slaughter some younglings. That’ll get me back in black in no time.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. So, he was shown to his quarters, and as usual, completely forgot to give me orders. I’ll presume that means I’m off duty for now. And if I’m not, then I’ll put up notice that I’m taking the day off. I’ll check in with him tomorrow.

Nothing much else to note, except that the stormtroopers at the welcoming ceremony were looking even more orderly than usual. I honestly thought they were cardboard cut-outs, for a second there.

**> Entry 128:**

I really shouldn’t gloat. You always pay a price for it in the end, especially when we’re talking about an all-powerful dictator that takes bloody retaliation over the most petty slights.

But today, it was worth it. As the station rotated to the left, I saw something out of the corner of my eye. Magnifying vision, I knew I was not mistaken. I handed my Master a pair of binoculars, pointed, and watched as he mouthed the words “clutches… gangster… hutt.”

After a moment or so spent in silence, he sent me to fetch his laundry, without another word.

WHO’S CRAZY NOW, YOU SENILE OLD FUCK?!

**> Entry 129:**

Yeah, okay, I walked right into that one. Now not only am I not permitted by his side as he “meditates over the stars and eternity” (i.e., sleeps in a comfy chair), but he’s so irritated he’s willing to ignore any pressing concerns, like the need for combat drills, and just send all the ships to Endor’s far side right away. I know we’ve got a good trap set in place here, but we could at least, like, rehearse our parts a litte. Never hurts to be ready for the real thing.

I mean, they could be there for days. We don’t know WHEN they’re attacking. We just know they are.

His lack of concern for anything other than his own plans is irritating me.

Also, he pretty much booted me off the Death Star, to wait on board the Executor (If I was a child, I’m sure it would be without any supper). Talk about bitter.

Fine by me. If he wants to lurk on board that death trap with only his funny-hatted advisers, I’ve no quarrel. I’m that much farther away from the green moon of furry horrors.

**> Entry 130:**

Shock today. I was on board the Executor’s bridge, trying to look for anything interesting outside to help pass away the time, when I noticed a shuttle kind of wavering about. I was convinced that the pilot was either a fool or inebriated, as he was doing a very poor job of trying to not look like he was keeping his distance, while at the same time endeavouring to fly casually. So, naturally, I got curious, and asked what was going on.

Truth be told, I was pretty damn sure someone had found my wallet, and had come to give it back. I sensed a great amount of fear and hesitation on board the ship. I know I have that effect on people, so I looked a little closer and holy crap, it’s my son.

And there I am thinking, “wow, my son found my wallet, what are the chances,” and then I realise I’m being stupid, and the Rebels are attempting to sabotage the construction effort, or destroy it, like the old man said.

Well, after going through so much trouble, I could hardly spoil their little surprise so soon in the game, so I let them through.

But I’m not sure what to do now. Do I just head down and wipe them out, or does he have something else in mind?

I’d better go ask. He’ll be upset that I left the Executor, but to hell with it.

**> Entry 131:**

If I have to listen to him say that “everything goes as he foresses it” _one more time_ , I’m cutting him down where he stands.

It’s been over twenty years by now, I’m _so_ sick of hearing that line.

**> Entry 132:**

Well, here I am. Heading down to meet my son again. I’m on board my personal shuttle now, sent here on behest of the Emperor, because Luke will apparently come to me, so that I may bring him before him. Not to catch up on life or anything. No, not to spend some quality time with my boy. So that I may bring him before HIM.

I swear.

Maul had an insane obsession with Obi-Wan. Dooku wanted to separate from the Republic and start again with himself in command. I wanted to save my wife from death.

I’m not even starting on all the things Palpatine wants.

Maybe we Sith really _do_ have possession issues.

**> Entry 133:**

I just had a ‘moment’ with my son, and now I’ve got a very strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. 

And I’m pretty sure that, for once, it isn’t due in any way to the mashed cabbage and blue milk I had for dinner.

No, I’m pretty sure this is guilt.

That’s not good. Darth Vader does not feel guilt. Anakin Skywalker feels guilt. And if Anakin Skywalker feels, that means that Anakin Skywalker is still alive. Not truly dead, like the boy said.

This is cause for concern, though I will not allow such thoughts to trouble me. For now, the matters at hand.

The boy has changed since the last time we met. His will is stronger, his link to the Force is stronger as well, and his fashion sense is much improved.

He addressed me as “Father”, instead of “NOOOOOOOOOOOO, NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO”, which kind of made me feel good about myself. I gloated over it for a bit, and then he went and said some things that made me uncomfortable, about me being filled with sugar and spice and everything nice, so on, so forth. I meant to say that I’d impale him through the head with his own lightsaber if he called me Anakin again, but it came out as “That name no longer has any meaning for me.”

Sometimes, I’m such a wuss.

He pressed on, and I couldn’t bring myself to talk about it. Instead, I just did as I always do. Toy with machines when I feel weird. He made a nice saber.

Then I said some things without really meaning to. That I MUST obey my master. And that got me thinking, “why?”

And then I got all confused. The rest was kind of a blur, they took him away, leaving me uncertain as to who I really am.

Am I Darth Vader, or Anakin Skywalker?

Well, whoever I am, I know one thing for certain: I feel jealousy.

The kid builds one hell of a lightsaber, even if the design looks too much like Obi-Wan’s for comfort. His skills will be put to great use for the glory of the Sith.

And I’m kind of tired of my own saber. Perhaps if I hint at it, I will receive a really good father’s day present.

**> Entry 134:**

Going back up now, and he is in the brig.

Let’s recap:

Anakin Skywalker is proud that his son is so caring.

Darth Vader is proud that his son is strong.

Anakin Skywalker loves his son.

Darth Vader loves his son’s power.

Anakin Skywalker had legs and arms.

Darth Vader has low-quality metal rods for appendages.

Anakin Skywalker could eat hard foods easily, and breathe without alerting whole star systems to his presence.

Darth Vader can’t.

Anakin Skywalker had a handsome face that took in all of like with a wink and a smile.

Darth Vader has a face like a barbecue grille.

Anakin Skywalker had few material possessions.

Darth Vader has entire systems under his power.

Anakin Skywalker had a kickass podracer.

Darth Vader has a TIE Interceptor.

Anakin Skywalker was friends with a moronic Gungan, a Jedi Master who compulsively lied to him, a Jedi Padawan who turned his back on him, a clone captain who was legally required to spend time with him and therefore does not count, and a treacherous wife.

Darth Vader has no friends. Only a magic crystal ball that speaks in clichés, walks like a man, and abuses him whenever he feels like it.

Anakin Skywalker feels love for his son, flesh of his flesh, blood of his blood.

Darth Vader feels hate for his Emperor, his guide and mentor for as long as he can remember.

Anakin Skywalker wants to live with his son, to teach him the old ways of the Jedi as he now understands them, tempered by age and experience.

Darth Vader wants to rule the Galaxy with his son, with an iron fist.

Anakin Skywalker feels love.

Darth Vader feels alone.

This class is hard.

**> Entry 135:**

Testing.

This is a test.

Huh. Didn't expect it to actually work.

Not sure I can keep this up for very long, but I’ll go with the flow.

The flow of the Force, as it is.

See, the thing is, I’m dead now.

Didn’t see that one coming, did you?

Neither did I. The Force is strange like that.

So, if I’m dead, why am I writing this? Well, simple, actually. Three reasons: first, a test to see whether I can interact with the living world. Seems I can, but I don’t know how long I can keep it up. Second, a confession.

I’ve been such a dickhead for the last twenty years, it isn’t funny.

And it took my own son nearly being killed to make me really realise that.

It never rains, but it pours, hm?

This is what happened: I brought Luke to Palpatine, who immediately set about creeping the heck out of the poor boy. I have to hand it to my son, he stood his ground for awhile. Really did, even when the old man turned around and turned all his arguments back on him.

I hid what I was thinking, but Luke… he was just too good. He read me like a book, saw plainly that Palpatine was even weirding me out, and even outright disturbing me.

I mean, come on. When your withered old crone of a liege pats an arguably phallic symbols and purrs to your son “you want this, don’t you?”, it’s time to reconsider who you’re fighting for.

To top that off, it wasn’t enough he had to be all weird. He just got… arrogant. Condescending, even more so than he usually is. In an impressive display of expositionary dialogue, he proceeded to explain the entire trap to Luke. Which of course put him on edge, making him all angry and so forth.

And I started thinking, he knows I’ll protect him if Luke attacks. Wait… no, he’s depending on it.

I gave some serious thought to just standing by and letting nature take its course, but by that time the saber was already coming up, and I reacted on instinct.

Which made me realise that the insults the rebels always threw my way, about being the “Emperor’s Dog”, were all too true. 

I was a slave.

 _His_ slave.

And the thought enraged me. 

I was under no illusions of being free under Palpatine’s boot, of course. I was to obey his every command, or suffer. No, correction, I was to suffer even if I obeyed him. Perhaps I wasn’t being lashed in punishment, but he has made sure my entire existence since Mustafar is one long, endless suffering. At first I thought I deserved it, to pay for my sins with my agony, but now I realised that it was his way to keep me tethered to him. 

But I always thought… One day, I will just step aside, and he’ll be done for. One day, I will take revenge against him.

But I had just saved his life without thinking about it. I had just saved the person I despised the most in this galaxy, out of _sheer_ instinct.

Just _how_ broken was I, that he now had control over my very instincts? Just how far had I fallen?

I stopped thinking about it, though, and the Sith part of my brain just assumed that the Emperor was right, as always, and that only together could we turn him to the dark side.

And hasn’t that been the whole, pathetic story of my life? 

Aside from that, my son was in fact trying to hack my arm off, so I focused on that instead.

I paid the price for my wandering thoughts with a boot to the face, which sent me down a flight of stairs. Spun and slowed my fall a bit with the Force, though.

Ah, spinning. Is there anything you can’t do?

Anyway, I had found myself in a most precarious situation, so I used the time-honoured tradition of banter in order to distract the boy. I looked up at gim, and said,

“Obi-Wan has taught you well.”

Inside I’m thinking,

“Fuck. High ground.”

He turned off his saber, and I breathed a sigh of relief. True, they’re barely metal sticks, but being a limbless torso isn’t fun, so I was lucky he wasn’t going to pull the same trick Obi-Wan did.

He told me he didn’t want to fight. “Fair enough, that’s his mistake”, I thought, and I was amazed when I was halfway up the stairs and he hadn’t turned the thing back on. I resolved to teach him a lesson (Jedi or Sith, when someone’s WALKING MENACINGLY TOWARDS YOU WITH A LIT SABER, you don’t let your guard down. Common sense).

So we went at it some more, and I wouldn’t admit it, but his refusal to fight me was stirring up conflict. A very private matter, which he had to bring up into the open. This bugged me.

Probably why I tossed the saber at him, I think.

And of course, that set the old man off, cackling like a hyena.

Oh, how I itched to then turn back and throw my saber at _him_. Oh, how I would have relished in seeing his stunned face before it was cut in half.

But I didn’t.

Instead of doing what I should be doing, I tried to tune him out by focusing upon my son’s thoughts, figuring what was sauce for the goose was sauce for the gander.

And oh, what I found there.

As I think about it now, I’m amazed by my own thoughts at the time. You’d think I’d say, “goodness gracious… I have a daughter, too?” or “I am so proud” or “I tortured my own daughter just because the Emperor bid so?” or “DID YOU TWO SERIOUSLY KISS EACH OTHER?!”, or something like that.

Nope.

Here I am thinking, “suck on that, Obi-Wan.”

So then, of course, I got all typical and decided she’d make a fine replacement, because my son was a goody two-shoes (barring incestual preferences. Ew.) And while I’m standing there gloating about how Obi-Wan had basically failed at life, my son is rushing towards me intent on murder.

There’s no denying what happened afterward. The kid beat me like a red-snouted Rodian stepchild. I had no chance to attack, barely any to defend.

To top it off, I was distracted because I heard this weird chorus singing, and I thought the Death Star’s PA system had been activated and someone was playing music.

I had also just made the connection between Padmé and Leia, and I was thinking how funny it was that they looked so alike, and that history really did repeat itself.

Then I got my hand chopped off for like the umpteenth time, and if it hadn’t been so agonisingly painful I would have bust a gut laughing.

And then Palpatine comes along and basically tells him to off me.

And I remembered when I was standing where Luke was. About his same age, filled with doubts and fear and rage. And I couldn’t resist the temptation.

But he did. Luke refused to kill me.

He tossed away his saber and proclaimed himself a Jedi, like his father before him.

His father. Me. A Jedi.

What I used to be.

I started thinking about the old times. How happy I was.

How good it felt to do good. To help those in need. To travel across the galaxy, fixing injustices and doing what’s right.

And how I’d had absolutely no problem with the Jedi until Palpatine started preying on me. On my insecurity. On my fear.

How I lost all faith in the Council through two trials which were orchestrated by Palpatine himself. He was behind the Rako Hardeen plot. He was behind Ahsoka’s prosecution.

All part of his grand plot to alienate me from the Order and leave me vulnerable to _him_.

And I realised that I had been wrong. Padmé never betrayed me. Neither did Obi-Wan, or Ahsoka. I betrayed _them_. In trying to control everything around me, to keep it just the way I wanted it, I really did become what I swore to destroy.

A slave.

Once again.

I started my life as a slave, and was now ending it as a slave. My whole life, a shaggydog story, a man with no mind of his own. Groomed since childhood to become nothing but a tool to a crazed megalomaniac.

And he’s standing there, frying my son with lightning, nothing but hate in his eyes. And I remembered a time just like that, with the lightning, and through the course of my own actions, I had caused a good man to be killed.

All because of what I wanted.

But what did I ever really want? A family. Friends. A happy life.

I look to my son, pleading for his life.

Family.

I look to my Master, who I understand now how he played me, to turn me against everyone I loved and destroy everything I ever wanted.

It was as if I could finally see for the first time in my life. Jedi. Sith. It was all a matter of perspective. There only exists the Force. You’re not inherently evil for using the Dark Side, nor are you inherently good for using the Light Side.

But Sheev Palpatine, through his actions, had proved himself as the purest embodiment of evil that has ever scourged this galaxy.

The funny thing was, I took no real pleasure in it. I didn’t even crack a smile as I tossed him down the reactor shaft.

I just knew it was what I had to do.

For my son.

I took a little breather, and realised that most of my suit had stopped working.

It didn’t matter. I was at peace. I had my son, and for once, he had me.

I want to talk, to tell him everything, but there wasn’t time, he said, and we had to get away. I reached through the Force, and he was right. The place was going to blow.

So we hobbled down to the nearest docking bay, and I was feeling pretty sleepy. For a split second, I chided myself, thinking that this wasn’t the time, and then I remembered that it was a bit more serious than that

I felt it wasn’t necessary for him to really carry me any further, because let’s face it, I was done for, while he wasn’t. I didn’t want to condemn him with me.

I asked him a favour, and he did it.

I had forgotten how nice a cool breeze can feel against your face. How nice things smell.

How lovely colours were, too. Reflecting on it now, I was right.

A green colour scheme would have looked nice.

But there wasn’t time. Luke was right, too, I told him, about something more important.

Me.

Who I really was inside.

I nodded off just then.

And now, here I am.

Instinct told me to leave this diary behind, on Endor. The Force will lead you to it. It does things like that when you say it does.

The third reason I write this is so that you can know. My son. My daughter. Know your father, if you ever wish to. Know about him through his own words. Learn from this diary, and learn from my mistakes.

Attachments and love is what makes life worthwhile. But you can’t control them, because then you destroy what you’re trying to keep. You cannot force love. And you cannot control the course of life. The Tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise was a lie, a bait for me to take. Temptation takes many forms, but you should never give into it.

Evil might be a thing of perspective, but I know from experience that the Dark Side is an insidious cancer that sucks your life away and rips apart everything you love. 

Trust in the Force, and each other. Live well. Do well. Take up podracing, or something. Have fun.

Don’t concern yourselves with the trivialities of life. Don’t look for answers to everything, because you won’t find them. Giant yellow texts is just another of life’s great myseries.

Your lightsabers are _not_ your life. They’re nothing but a tool. An extremely useful one to have when in a pinch, but a tool nonetheless. Train the next generation of Jedi, and do it right. Don’t hold on to dogmatic views, but learn and adapt to your circumstances. Do not fail those who need you the most.

When in doubt, know that Artoo can probably fix it.

Take care of Threepio for me.

Remember I will always be with you. And so will the Force.

I hear their voices calling to me through it. 

I can see their faces.

Obi-Wan. Old and grey, but with the biggest smile I have ever seen.

Master Yoda. The little troll’s eyes are twinkling mischievously.

Master Windu’s scowl. Master Mundi’s wise eyes. Master Plo’s calm demeanour. Master Fisto’s wicked grin.. Every one of them. They are all one with the Force.

And…

Someone’s missing.

Huh.

Should have known she’d be much harder to kill than that.

If you ever meet Ahsoka, tell her that I’m so sorry that I failed her. That even in the depths of the Dark Side, there never passed a day in which I didn’t miss her snippy attitude.

Tell her I loved her.

Like I love you, my children. Never doubt it. 

I only wish I had gotten the chance to be the father you deserved.

But now I go to be one with the Force, and with them.

And to find out exactly why I have a middle-aged body and a twenty-five year-old head.

Don’t ask. I don’t even know, myself.

Yours truly.

Anakin Skywalker.

**Author's Note:**

> Entry V is a shout-out to **["Too Much Caf" by kyzyner](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22612258/chapters/54040909)** , and a way to circumvent the fact that the original entry no longer worked due to the inhibitor chips.  
> Everything else, I believe, I already said it at the author notes at the beginning.


End file.
